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LOVELL’S 

WESTMINSTER 

SERIES 


Post Office, New York, as second class matter 


* 


VlERRY, MERRY BOYS 


BY 

B. L. FARJEON 


'Authorised Edition 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, 

, SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W, LOVELL COMPANY 

150 Worth St., gor. Mission Place 


SSUED WEEKLY. 


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DECEMBER 5, 1890. 


THE CELEBRATED 



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MERRY, MERRY BOYS 



B. L. FARJEON 


tAutbori^ed Edition 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 


£79 2.3 


Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


CHAPTER I. 

GRANDMAMA LONGMORE’s PECULIAR WAYS, AND A LITTLE 
GOSSIP ABOUT MYSELF. 

Up to a certain time in their lives they were never tired 
of speaking- of the days when they were boys together, 
and when we were all together of an evening, it was ' 
delightful to hear them break out into the song, 

“When we were boys, 

Jolly, jolly boys, 

When we were boys together.” 

Grandmama Longmore would join in, and insist upon 
being one of the Boys, who were so bound up in each 
other that it seemed impossible that anything in the 
world — any change in their circumstances, such as one 
growing rich and the other growing poor — could part 
them. Always, in my remembrance, from the first day 
on which I saw her, during the many, many years that 
I was with her and them, did Grandmamma Longmore’s 
voice shake and pipe, her head, which I used to think 


6 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


must beset on springs, shaking sympathetically as she 
spoke or laughed, or sang. She had an extraordinary 
opinion of her vocal powers, which opinion, from court- 
esy and out of deference to her age, we never disputed, 
but the truth of the matter is, it was not possible for her 
to sing in tune ; and the two firm friends, Benjamin 
Longmore, her son, and Philip Ollier, no relation at all, 
would bear with her awhile, and then burst out laughing ; 
whereat Grandmamma Longmore, quite unconscious 
of the cause of their merriment, would pause a moment, 
and then join them in laughing as she had joined them 
in singing. She was a very old, old lady, and neither 
the printer nor the reader is to suppose I have made a 
mistake in using the word “ old ” twice. When she first 
took up her residence in her son’s house her appearance 
was ancient and faded in the extreme, and so it re- 
mained for the sixteen years during which we were 
together : her exact age I cannot state, but any stranger 
would have guessed it at between eighty and a hun- 
dred. A mysterious old lady was she in her whims and 
ways, and, although exhibiting no signs of mental decay, 
one who had to be carefully looked after. Her favorite 
proverb, which she was never tired of dinning into the 
ears of her young auditors, was the old-fashioned “Early 
to bed, And early to rise, Makes a man healthy, Weal- 
thy, and wise.” Healthy she certainly was, but cer- 
tainly not wealthy ; nor was she accounted wise in Ben- 
jamin Longmore’s house. She practiced what she 
preached. Unless there was something stirring she 
wished to pry into, when she would grimly and patiently 
sit us all out, she went to bed early, and rose early in the 
morning, making her appearance regularly at the break- 
fast table ; but if we left her there when the meal was 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. j 

over, and returned to the room a few minutes afterwards, 
we invariably found the sugar basin empty. It was 
useless to ask her where it had gone to. She would 
look at us innocently, and exclaim, “ The idea of ask- 
ing me such a question ! You must be growing child- 
ish.” If Benjamin Longmore were aware of this comi- 
cal disappearance he would say jocularly, “O, mother's 
got a sweet tooth ; ” but we could not accept this ex- 
planation, for her teeth were few and far between, and 
it was not possible that she could have devoured so large 
a quantity of sugar in so short a time. She had her 
own private room in the house, which was cleaned 
every day under her personal superintendence, and the 
key of which, attached by a string to some part of her 
person, she kept in her pocket. None of us dared to 
enter this apartment without invitation. Occasionally 
she would take one of us into her sanctum, and after 
locking the door and going through a performance bear- 
ing a mild resemblance to the villain in a melodrama 
when he is about to commit a dreadful deed, would 
draw from two antiquated hair-covered trunks a number 
of packets which she placed in rows on the table, and 
say : 

“My dear, when I am gone all these are yours. I 
have left them to you in my will. Don’t whisper it to 
a soul in the house.” 

She never opened the packets, and we were therefore 
left in a state of tantalizing anxiety as to the nature of 
the inheritance she thus bequeathed to 11s ; but it sub- 
sequently transpired that she was in the habit of mak- 
ing this statement to every person in the establishment, 
and that she only went through the form when she de- 
sired a favor or an obligation from the particular person 


8 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


with whom she was closeted. There were other things 
missing besides sugar, some of which, when we got 
used to her, we succeeded in recovering, and if we did 
not make a fuss, it was because the missing articles 
were generally of little value. That I may not convey 
a wrong impression of Grandmamma Longmore I must 
say at once that, with the exception of these peccadil- 
loes and of certain small, artful and mysterious ways, 
excusable in a person of her age, she was by no means 
objectionable. One of her pleasantest characteristics 
was the delight she took in her grandchild Grace and 
Grace’s boy lover Edward Ollier. Benjamin Longmore 
and Philip Ollier were both widowers, each left with 
one child, and the affection which existed between them 
was transmitted to their children, who, with the amused 
consent of their parents, entered into a matrimonial 
engagement very early in life, before they got into their 
teens indeed. But this is running ahead of matters, and 
I had best explain how it came about that I held an 
honored and responsible position in Benjamin Long- 
more’s family. 

As it is not my own history I am relating I shall be 
brief as respects myself. Blessed with good parents, 
who gave me an excellent education, I found myself 
an orphan at a critical period in a young girl’s life. My 
father died when I was sixteen years of age, and I fol- 
lowed my mother to the grave a year afterwards. I 
remember vividly how those about me sought to dis- 
suade me from paying this last tribute of love to one I 
idolized and who idolized me, their argument being 
that it was not usual for a lady of my standing to 
follow the remains of any one dear to her, that d*uty 
being left to the male representatives of the family. I 


MERRY , MERRY ROYS. 


9 


did not understand this at the time, and I do not under- 
stand it now. It was not for the reason that there were 
no immediate male relations of my dear mother to pay 
this final tribute to her memory that I disregarded the 
counsels of my friends ; had there been many I should 
have insisted upon my right to drop a few loose flowers 
into her grave. Then, as regards my social position, 
my friends, of course, believed that property had fallen 
to me upon the death of my parents. I alone knew 
that they were mistaken, for I had learned that I was 
thrown upon the world absolutely without means, and 
that I had to depend upon my own exertions for sub- 
sistence. When my friends learned this they fell off 
from me, and took but little interest in my welfare. I 
do not reproach them, for I know it is common and 
the way of the world. 

Casting about for the best and most likely means of 
earning a livelihood, I bethought myself of an aunt 
who, during the early days of my childhood, had pro- 
fessed to love me. She was my godmother, and I was 
named after her — a somewhat stately name for an 
ordinary English girl, Felicia. My parents, however, 
or one of them, had in some way offended this lady, 
and she had withdrawn her favor from them and me. 
But now, being alone in the world, I wrote to her, and 
informing her of my sad bereavement and helpless 
position, asked her to help me. She wrote back at 
once, saying she was not rich, but that she would be 
willing to receive me in her home as a companion. I 
gladly accepted the offer, and went to her, and lived 
with her for eighteen years, at the end of which I was 
still single, and somewhat too far advanced in life to 
hope to be anything else. “You will die an old maid,” 


10 


MERR K, MERR V BOYS. 


my aunt used to say to me, and as I am considerably 
older now than I was then, there is not the least doubt 
that she uttered a true prophecy. I had my girl dreams, 
but they faded away, and I am thankful to say have 
left no bitterness behind them. 

When I joined my aunt no allusion was made to any 
allowance for my services, and I make mention of this 
to prove how unworldly I was, for it was no idle life I 
led in her house. I was not only her companion, but 
her housekeeper and nurse, and I had a fair right to 
expect that some small provision would be made for 
me. But for the second time I found myself, at my 
aunt’s death, thrown upon the world without resources. 
The lady I had served was not entirely to blame. Years 
before I entered her house she had invested her small 
fortune in a life annuity, and she had no money to leave 
to me or to anyone. Her wardrobe was bequeathed to 
me, and I was thankful for the legacy. It was a good 
wardrobe, and to this day her dresses are useful to me ; 
and a few odd pieces of lace she used to wear on state 
occasions enable me appear as a lady. During the 
years I was with her I learned a great deal ; I had no 
dressmakers’ bills to pay, for I made my own dresses, 
and am rather vain of my accomplishments in the way 
of cutting and altering and turning — in other words, in 
trimming old lamps till they look like new. If I had 
daughters of my own I should be most careful to 
instruct them in this art, and I have no doubt they 
would live to appreciate it at its proper worth. 

While living with my aunt I learned other lessons 
than how to cut and snip ; among them the lesson of 
patience and toleration, upon which too high a value 
cannot be set. My parents had left me no worldly 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. II 

possessions, but they had transmitted to me an equable 
disposition which would have served me in good stead 
in any circumstances in life. This was the groundwork 
of qualities of temper and judgment which saved me 
from many miseries, especially from that unhappy 
inclination, with which numbers of mortals are en- 
dowed, of going forward to meet troubles half way. I 
do not say this in praise of myself; I state it merely as 
an explanation of my good fortune in obtaining the 
good will and confidence of those upon whom I have 
been to a great extent dependent. From the time I 
was thrown penniless upon the world to the present 
day I have lived in two homes only — in that of my 
aunt, and afterwards in the home of Benjamin Long- 
more. Thus I have been spared the vicissitudes with 
which most others in my position have been afflicted, 
and I ascribe it chiefly to my inheritance of mental and 
moral qualities by the unconscious exercise of which 
1 have gained affection which has sweetened my days. 
My aunt had what is generally described as a “ trying” 
temper, but though in early years she caused me to 
shed many secret tears I never had a difficulty with 
her, and we lived together in peace and harmony. 

“Felicia,” she said on her deathbed, “I have not 
behaved justly towards you, and it is too late now to 
repair my error. Think kindly of me when I am gone, 
and do not worry about your future. Things are sure 
to come right.” 

She was as correct in this prognostication as she was 
in the prophecy that 1 shall die an old maid. 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS . 


I 2 


CHAPTER II. 

I ENTER THE SERVICE OF BENJAMIN LONGMORE. 

Well, there I was, thirty-four years of age, homeless 
for the second time in my life, and on the look-out for a 
situation. I was as fortunate then as I have always 
been. Seeing an advertisement in a newspaper of good 
repute for a companion to a young mother in a delicate 
state of health, I replied to it, and was invited to call 
upon Mr. Longmore, in the north of London. There 
was a hint in the advertisement that the applicant must 
be competent to perform certain responsible duties in 
the direction of a small household. There was nothing 
in the management of a house for which I did not con- 
sider myself fully competent, and without ahy fears 
upon this head I obeyed Mr. Longmore’s summons. He 
was a pleasant-mannered gentleman, and he informed 
me that a great number of letters had been sent in 
answer to his advertisement — which I could well be- 
lieve, knowing how overcrowded are the ranks in all 
occupations — and that his wife had selected my appli- 
cation as the one which most resommended itself to 
her. I saw that he was in some anxiety concerning 
his wife, and that he intended to exercise scrupulous 
care in his choice of a companion for her. 

“Be kind enough,” he said, “to tell me all about 
yourself. 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


*3 

I gave him a faithful description of my career and 
circumstances, and he observed that it was unjust on 
the part of my aunt to leave me entirely without 
resources after so long a service. 

“I make no complaifit against her,” I said. “She 
offered me a hom-e when I had none, and I was happy 
with her.” 

“You had a claim upon her.” 

“Scarcely more than a sentimental claim. Had she 
lived, and wished to pay me a salary, she would have 
had to deprive herself of luxuries to which she was 
accustomed. I do not think I should have consented 
to that.” 

“You were not very worldly,” said Mr. Longmore, 
looking at me attentively, “but have grown wiser, no 
doubt. ” 

“ I am not extravagant in my expectations,” I replied 
with a smile, his meaning was so clear. 

“We are not rich people,” he said. “The question 
is whether you would be satisfied with our home, in 
which we have to be economical, and with the modest 
salary I can afford to offer you.” 

“I think I should be quite satisfied,” I said. “The 
question rather is whether I should suit you and your 
wife, and that can only be answered by giving me a 
trial.” 

“You see,” he said, “ what I require in the house is 
a practical person, and your indifference to your own 
interests is not a good guarantee.” 

“Perhaps,” I said, with an inward compliment to 
myself for my shrewdness, “I can look after the inter- 
ests of others better than I can my own.” A remark 
which seemed to give him a better opinion of my abil- 
ities. 


14 


MERR Y, MERE Y BO YS, 


“ Go and talk to my wife,” he said. “ I desired to 
see you first, honestly to be able to approve of you. If 
you please her we will speak of terms. Though the 
mischief is,” he added, “ that her eyes are in her heart, 
while mine are in my head.” 

He took me himself to his wife’s room, and I made 
the acquaintance of a lady whose sweetness and gentle- 
ness were like stars of peace and love in the home 
blessed by her presence. She was fragile and delicate — 
I saw that at a glance — and on her lap lay an infant, 
one year and one day old, as the fond mother informed 
me. This child was my dear Grace, who was as happy 
in her inheritance of moral and mental qualities as I 
was myself; but her character will unfold itself as my 
story progresses. Only one thing must be mentioned. 
Her virtues sprang from her mother, in whose nature 
there was no hidden mystery which, under the stress 
of evil circumstance, would have laid bare to the eyes 
of the world vices which slept when temptation was far 
away. Mrs. Longmore’s soul was the incarnation of 
purity and sinlessness, as white and unstained as 
falling snow. 

The moment I saw Mrs. Longmore, my heart went 
out to her, and that hers beat responsively to mine I 
soon had proof. Our first interview was not a long 
one ; she was not strong, and after some necessary 
questions had been asked and answered I rose to take 
my leave. I had already made friends with baby, and 
though I saw I had produced a good impression I 
began to fear — so earnest was my desire to enter this 
happy home — that Mr. Longmore’s verdict might be 
against me. Mrs. Longmore had risen from the sofa 
to receive me, and before I went from the room I 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


15 


assisted her on to it again, and put baby in a low 
swinging cradle on a level with the loving mother’s 
face as she lay down. 

“It is all arranged, then,” said Mrs. Longmore, with 
anxiety no less than my own. 

I looked at Mr. Longmore, and he asked me to return 
to the room I had left, where he would presently join 
me. I closed the door softly after me, and as I caught 
a glimpse of him bending tenderly over his wife, I knew 
that my fate was being discussed. 

I had not long to wait for the verdict. Mr. Long- 
more came in and said that his wife wished that I should 
be engaged ; I replied that I was very glad, and inquired 
when I should come. 

“We have to settle about terms,” he remarked. 
“ What are your views as to salary ? ” 

I named a sum per annum which he said was ridicu- 
lously low, but so apprehensive was I that there should 
be no obstacle on my part to the engagement, that I 
insisted it would be sufficient. 

“Very well,” he said, “let it be as you suggest. We 
can come to a more equitable arrangement when we 
discover whether we suit each other.” 

On the following day I entered his service, and his 
home has been mine ever since. It was a happy home, 
saddened though it was by a grievous and irreparable 
loss which fell upon it when Grace was four years old. 
The duties devolving upon me I carried out almost 
from the first week of my arrival. Mrs. Longmore re- 
quired not only a companion for herself and child, but 
a housekeeper as well, and I was soon in possession of 
all the keys. The family grew to depend upon me and 
to love me, and I grew to love them as truly as if they 


10 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


had been of my blood. Ah, how it grieved me to ob- 
serve that my dear mistress was gradually but surely 
wasting away ! As week after week passed by her face 
became more delicate, her hands and fingers more 
transparent. She used to amuse her child by placing 
her hand before the candle and letting the light shine 
through it. Grace was too young to comprehend the 
significance of this pathetic pastime, too young to guess 
that the dear mother was travelling steadily on to the 
valley and the shadow of death. Mrs. Longmore never 
murmured or repined, and of all those around her I think 
I was the only one who truly realized what was coming. 
Philip Ollier, already a widower, and his little boy Ned 
lived very near and visited us regularly, and Mrs. Long- 
more would lie back in her easy-chair, and contemplate 
the picture of the two children sitting close together, 
looking over a picture book or playing with their toys. 

“I wonder whether it will ever be,” she whispered 
to me. 

I glanced at the children, and then at Mrs. Longmore. 

“Poor Ned is without a mother,” she said, still in a 
whisper, “and my darling Grace soon will be.” 

She caught my hand, and pressed it convulsively. 

“ Hush, hush ! ” I murmured, and I passed my hand 
across her forehead, smoothing her hair away, and calm- 
ing her as best I could. This action of mine invaria- 
bly had a soothing effect upon her. 

That night when Grace was asleep and her mother 
and I were alone, Mrs. Longmore said : 

“ I have been trying to dream for weeks and weeks 
past of the future. Before going to sleep I have said 
to myself a hundred times, ‘My dear child’s future — 
what will it be, what will it be? Let me see it in my 


MERR K, MERR Y BO YS. 


r 7 

dreams.’ But I have never once dreamt other. Is it 
not strange ? ” 

“ Dreams have ever been a mystery to me,” I said ; 
“how they come and go, and whether there is any real 
meaning in them. But, dear Mrs. Longmore, you 
should not excite yourself ; it is not good for you.” 

“ Miss Felicia,” she said — it was in those terms all 
in the house addressed me — “nothing can alter what 
will be, what must be ; nothing can retard it, nothing 
can hasten it. Open my desk — thank you. You will 
see under the papers there two sealed letters, without 
any address on them ; they are in pink envelopes. 
Yes, those are they. Bring them here, and open the 
smaller one, please.” 

I did as she directed, and drew forth a sheet of paper, 
on the inner page of which was written, “I shall die 
the first week in September,” in her own handwriting. 
It was her death sentence, pronounced by herself. My 
heart chilled as I gazed upon the ominous words, but 
my dear mistress was quite calm. Recovering myself 
I ventured to ask whether she was wise in giving way 
to such fancies. With a smile, sad and sweet, she shook 
her head. 

“ They are not fancies, Miss Felicia. There exists 
within me certain convictions, the fulfilment of which 
are fixed and unalterable. I can measure the time allot- 
ted to me, and I know that I shall die at the time I have 
set down. In September my darling will be mother- 
less.” 

“ I am sure, I am sure,” I urged, “ that it is not good 
to dwell upon such matters, and to makeup one’s mind 
to what will transpire in the future. We are all in the 
hands of a merciful Judge who knows best what is best 
for us.” 


i8 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


“I bow my head to Him,” she said reverently fold- 
ing her hands, “and ft is in submission, not in rebel- 
lion, that I have written those words. Miss Felicia, I 
wrote them for your eyes alone to see. I would not 
grieve my dear husband by showing them to him. 
Destroy the paper, and dip the pen in the ink for me. ” 

I gave her the pen, and she wrote my name on the 
envelope that remained. 

“You will not open it,” she said, “till I am gone. 
Miss Felicia, heaven sent you to my house ; you are 
my solace, my comforter. I am humbly grateful.” 

“You overrate my services,” I said. “ I love you 
most truly.” 

“Love my child,” she said earnestly. 

“ I do, with my whole heart and soul.” ' 

“Love her always ; never desert her. She may need 
by her side when she is a woman one as wise and ten- 
der as yourself. I have the fullest faith in you ; I know 
you to be good and right-minded. I look forward to 
what is coming with resignation, because I feel that 
you will take my place with my dear, and be to her 
what I should have been if my life were spared.” 

I was inexpressibly affected by this sacred mark of 
confidence, and, in words as forcible as I could com- 
mand, I assured her that I would prove worthy of it. 
When we were both calmer she said : 

“Miss Felicia, had you your choice, would you 
rather be rich or poor — for happiness, I mean ?” 

I replied, speaking not for myself alone but in a 
general way, that we could be happy in either condi- 
tion, and that our airr^ should be to make the best use 
of the means at our command, whether they were large 
or small. 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. U ) 

“Bat how seldom that is done/' she observed. 
“ Great good fortune is hard to bear; it changes our 
natures sometimes — too often, I am afraid. Those 
pleasures are not the sweetest which are the easiest 
gained. Money, which should be our servant, becomes 
our master, and the power it bestows frequently turns 
good into evil. It may sound strange, but as we pray 
to be delivered from temptation, so, if there were many 
years of life before me, I should pray to be delivered 
from the burden of great wealth. ” 

Although I dimly recognized the force of her utter- 
ances, it was not until long after she was laid to rest 
that I fully realized their application to those whom she 
held most dear. 


20 


MERR V, MERR Y BO YS. 


CHAPTER III. 

BENJAMIN LONGMORE AND PHILIP OLLIER EXPRESS THEIR 
VIEWS ON THE SUBJECT OF MONEY. 

The conversation I have recorded took place in the 
month of June. The summer of that year was a de- 
lightful season, and the fine weather seemed to have a 
wonderful effect upon Mrs. Longmore’s health. There 
was a tender gayety in her spirits which spread through 
the whole house like sunshine. 

“She is growing stronger/’ said Mr. Longmore, in a 
happy voice. “She will be her old self again pres- 
ently.” 

He was tenderly attached to his wife, and was un- 
remitting in his attentions and in his care for her ; so 
far as his means would allow he surrounded her with 
everything that could make life pleasant and enjoyable, 
and it was not in her nature to sadden these evidences 
of love by one word of repining. She had a great 
admiration for her husband’s friend, Philip Ollier, and 
spoke to me of his character in the highest terms. 

“There, at least,” she said, “is a man whom riches 
would not spoil. He would know how to use them to 
a good end ; I hope Ned will take after him.” 

“There is no reason why he should not,” I said. 
“ Mr. Ollier says he is going to educate his son himself, 
and the little fellow’s ways already comically resemble 
those of his father.” 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


2 I 


We had both noted this with amusement. Philip 
Ollier had a trick of walking- up and down with his 
hands clasped behind him when he was debating any 
important matter, and Ned, when any small matter was 
in his mind, unconsciously fell into the same habit; 
and it used to bring a smile to my lips, and some 
wonder also to my mind, when I saw in the lad these 
reproductions of his father’s peculiarities. I, too, in 
common with my dear mistress, had a high opinion of 
Philip Ollier, whose views were in singular accord with 
hers, but I remember that it once struck me as strange 
that in her confidential conversations with me she never 
alluded to her husband in the same association. She 
spoke of him always with exceeding tenderness, but 
yet occasionally with a note of pity, as though she 
believed it was almost a vital point that he should be 
ever within the reach of some purifying influence to 
which he would bow and by which he could be persuaded 
to be directed. After this thought occurred to me I 
revolved the subject in my mind, and studied the opin- 
ions and views of the two friends with more care than 
I had hitherto given to them ; and upon a certain occa- 
sion, when Mrs. Longmore was not present, the oppor- 
tunity of some enlightenment was afforded to me. 

“ I heard of an old friend to-day,” said Philip Ollier, 
mentioning the name of the friend, which I cannot 
recall ; it is of no importance, not being necessary to 
my story, so I will call him Jones. 

“ Indeed,” said Benjamin Longmore. “Jones, who 
was at school with us, you mean.” 

“The same. That fair-haired, thick-lipped boy, who 
spoke with a lisp, and used to get flogged about twice 
a- week.” 


22 


MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 


“ I haven’t given him a thought for years,” observed 
Benjamin Longmore. “ He was not the kind of school- 
fellow that lives in one’s memory. His father was a 
pawnbroker, wasn’t he ? ” 

“Yes, Ben,” replied Philip Ollier, “and we decided 
it was just the kind of business that Jones was cut out 
for, and that he hadn’t a soul above buttons. Of all 
the boys in our acquaintance he was the one who was 
the least likely to do anything remarkable. We were 
mistaken. He has done something very remarkable.” 

“You surprise me. What is it ? ” 

“ He has made a great fortune.” 

“ Made it ? ” exclaimed Benjamin Longmore. 

“Made it,” said Philip Ollier. 

“ By himself? Out of his own head ? ” 

“Out of his own head — a shrewder head than we 
supposed it to be.” 

“ How did he make it?” asked Benjamin Longmore, 
and an unusual excitement in his voice caused me to 
raise my eyes to his face. 

“ By speculation. He has actually been promoting 
companies ; got hold of a mine somewhere in the 
Polar regions, and swept into his purse no end of 
money — thousands, hundreds of thousands. He has 
bought a famous estate — not in the Polar regions — and 
talks of entering parliament.” 

“He will be a credit to the House. How in the 
world did he manage it?” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea, except, as I have said, 
that he is cleverer than we gave him credit for being.” 

Benjamin Longmore drummed on the table with his 
fingers, and there were puckers in his face. 

“ Look here, Phil,” he said, “Jones was a dunce and 
a fool at school.” 


A/ERR Y A/ERR Y BO YS. 


23 

“ He was. The biggest dunce and the biggest fool 
of the lot.” 

“ It hardly seems fair, does it ? ” 

“I don’t catch your meaning.” 

“Why, that this addlepate should become suddenly 
so rich, while we — ” 

“Well, Ben,” said Philip Ollier, prompting the con- 
clusion of the sentence. “While we? — ” 

* ‘ Are as we are. ” 

“Very cozy and comfortable, I think,” said Philip 
Ollier, looking around the room. 

“You don’t care for money, Phil.” 

“Don’t I?” retorted Philip Ollier. “ I wish I had 
more than I could carry.” 

“And yet you don’t envy Jones.” 

“Not a bit. He is quite welcome to his luck, so far 
as I am concerned. As long as a man is comfortable 
and has enough, he wants little more, in my opinion.” 

“He does want more,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
speaking slowly, “ he wants money. It is the greatest 
power in the world ; it can accomplish everything. 
With it a man is a prince, a king ; without it, he is a 
dummy. ” 

“Seriously, now, Ben,” said Philip Ollier, “would 
you like to be a king ? ” 

“Would I like it? Show me the man who wouldn’t.” 

“ Look at me, then. If the burden had been thrown 
on my shoulders as a birthright I should have had to 
bear it, but to have the choice, and not run away from 
it — no, no, Ben, I happen to know when I’m well off. 
No crown for Philip Ollier, thank you.” 

“Where’s your common sense?” asked Benjamin 
Longmore. “ Who are the men who hold places in the 


24 


MERRY MERRY ROYS. 


world, who are bowed down to and looked up to, and 
talked about, who have power? The men who have 
money ; all the others are drudges, or puppets, or 
slaves. ” 

“Take the whole of the responsibility, Ben; upon 
present evidence I will have none of it.” 

“That’s not like you, Phil — to shirk an argument.” 

“I don’t shirk it ; I have simply come to some sort 
of conclusion upon certain matters and entertain opin- 
ions respecting them, which are, of course, subject to 
correction. Of all the birds in the air is the eagle the 
most to be envied ? There’s many a small bird I think 
I had rather be. You can carry on the simile, Ben, to 
the seas and the forests. ” 

“I have also,” said Benjamin Longmore, “ come to 
some sort of conclusion upon certain matters, and 
entertain opinions respecting them ” 

“ Which,” interrupted Philip Ollier, laughing, “are, 
like my own, open to correction, I hope.” 

“ I don’t know about that. One day I intend to be 
fabulously rich. I want to know how it feels.” 

“ All right,” said Philip Ollier, “when that day comes 
tell me how you feel, and I’ll see whether it’s worth 
while.” 

I listened in amazement and sorrow to Benjamin 
Longmore’s views. Had they been expressed in his 
usual manner they might not have so deeply impressed 
me, but I had never heard him speak with such intense 
feeling as on this occasion. Moreover, the discussion 
in which he was engaged seemed to change his char- 
acter. His face, generally so pleasant, became crafty, 
and there was a cunning, greedy look in his eyes it 
pained me to see. I was glad my dear mistress was 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


*5 

not present to see it and to hear what he said. I thought 
of her words : 

“Great good fortune is hard to bear ; it changes our 
natures sometimes — too often, I am afraid/' 

And again : 

“Money, which should be our servant, becomes our 
master, and the power it bestows frequently turns good 
into evil/' 

Were these remarks made with special reference to 
one who was dear to her, or did they spring merely 
from her observation of the general affairs of life ? Did 
she fear that there lurked in her husband’s nature a spirit 
of evil which some malignant influence might cause to 
leap into existence? I had had already some experi- 
ence of Benjamin Longmore, and it was entirely in his 
favor. He was courteous, kind, and considerate, and 
he had a profound love for his wife and child ; but if 
he were tried in the fire of great prosperity how would 
it be with him? In the midst of these anxious musings 
I looked up and saw him as I had been in the habit of 
seeing him, pleasant-mannered, and with an agreeable 
expression on his face. He and his friend were speak- 
ing upon another subject, and I detected no discordant 
note in their voices. Presently they joined in a hearty 
laugh which rang like music through the room. I was 
greatly relieved, and I inwardly reproached myself for 
the silent injustice I had done my master. 

“Do not be so hasty in your judgments, Felicia," I 
said to myself. 


26 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MON REPOS. 

On a fine day in July my mistress and I, accom- 
panied by Benjamin Longmore and Philip Ollier, took 
a drive in the country, Barnet way, in accordance with 
the advice of the doctor, who wished Mrs. Longmore 
to have the benefit of the soft warm air when the 
weather was entirely favorable. At that period the 
country through which we drove was very charming, 
but of late years the part nearest to London has been 
swallowed up, as it were, by the demands of the mam- 
moth city, and its rural beauty is unhappily entirely 
destroyed. One spot, however, at which we halted, 
still retains its charm. Within but a short distance of 
the city of unrest it seems to be imbedded in the heart 
_of the country, and to be removed far away from the 
fever of London life. The fragrant hedges have not 
been cut away, the picturesque narrow lanes are as 
they have been for centuries past, and when the night- 
ingale visits England its song fills the air with melody. 

“Do you remember, Ben ?” asked Philip, pointing 
to a pair of handsome gates which guarded the entrance 
to a private property, in which the beauties of nature 
had evidently been enhanced by human culture and 
taste. A winding carriage path had been formed 
between thick clusters of shining laurels; how far it 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


27 


went we could not see, but Philip Ollier afterwards 
told us that it led to one of the most beautiful houses 
in England, and that in the twenty acres of ground by 
which it was surrounded were stables, orchards, pleas- 
ure and kitchen gardens, and everything that could 
contribute to man’s happiness, and the enjoyment of 
life. On a plate affixed to the gates was a tablet, 
bearing the inscription, in raised letters of silver, “Mon 
Repos.” 

It was fiftly named. A holy stillness pervaded the 
scene amidst which this perfect estate was imbedded ; 
it might have been the abode of the spirit of peace. 

“Yes, Phil,” said Benjamin Longmore, “I remem- 
ber. ” 

We turned towards the friends for an explanation. 

“Well,” said Philip Ollier, “there is a little tale hang- 
ing to it. With Ben’s permission I will relate the 
story.” 

“Of course Ben gives permission,” said Mrs. Long- 
more. 

“Of course I do,” assented her husband. 

“It commenced,” said Philip Ollier, “a long time 
ago, when we were boys together — eh, Ben?” 

“Yes, Phil.” 

“And very young boys, too,” continued Philip Ollier. 
“You, Mrs. Longmore, do not need to be told, but 
Miss Felicia does, perhaps, that when we were at school 
we were the closest of friends and the chummiest of 
chums. Had we been twin brothers we could not have 
been fonder of each other, and some of our schoolmates 
used to say that one of us ought to have been a girl. 
In those days we were in the habit of visiting a gardener 
who had been in my father’s service; he lived a mile 


23 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


further on, and is now heaven knows where. Almost 
always when we had a holiday it was our custom to 
spend it in this part of the country. One day we no- 
ticed a great stir on this very spot — carts, horses, bricks, 
masses of granite and marble, and a host of laborers. 

‘ Hallo/ said we, ‘what’s going on here?’ We were 
told that a gentleman had bought the ground, and was 
going to build a wonderful house upon it. A little later 
we saw a number of trees, with their roots carefully 
protected brought here, and were told they were trees 
from foreign countries which were going to be planted 
in the grounds. The news excited us, and we began 
to take an interest in the affair, weaving all sorts of 
fancies in connection with the trees and their owner, 
wanting to know whether he was a foreign prince or 
a magician, and what kind of magic flowers or fruit the 
trees would bear. In short, we magnified it into a 
romance which in some way was connected with our- 
selves. Our friend the gardener happened to get em- 
ployment here, and through him we made friends with 
others who were superintending the operations, and by 
a judicious or injudicious distribution of tips which made 
terrible holes in our pocket money, were allowed to 
come and go as privileged visitors. We saw the found- 
ations laid and the walls grow ; and we used to say to 
each other when a holiday was planned, that we won- 
dered how our grand palace was getting on. Our palace, 
mind. The more we saw of it the keener became our 
interest, and it got to be our favorite subject of conver- 
sation. We said that when we were men it was such 
a house and grounds as we should like to own. * It is 
worth working for,’ said Ben once. ‘ Well/ said I, part- 
ly in fun, and just a little bit in earnest, ‘let us work 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


29 

for it.' ‘All right,' said Ben, quite seriously, ‘we will 
work for it.' ‘ But after all, said I, coming to my sober 
senses, ‘that is nonsense ; it can never be anything 
more to us than a castle in the air.’ ‘I don’t agree with 
you,’ said Ben — he was always much more in earnest 
and more serious about thiugs, Mrs. Lotigmore, than 
I — ‘ I don’t agree with you. I make up my mind, now 
and here, that one of these days I will be its master. 
When I am rich enough I shall buy it.’ Boys are ag- 
gressively emulative, and I was no exception to the 
rule. ‘ If you make up your mind,’ said I, ‘ to become 
master here, I shall make up my mind to do the same.’ 
‘Very well, 'said Ben, taking me seriously, as usual, 

‘ let it be a race between us. Is it agreed? ’ ‘ Yes,’ I 

replied, and then a possible difficulty occurred to me; 
‘ but suppose the owner will not sell it when the time 
comes.’ ‘There are a good many years between now 
and then, said Ben, with a wise shake of his head; ‘a 
thousand things will happen before we are ready.’ So 
this compact, entered into in a spirit of wildness, be- 
came binding, and exists at the present day — we being,” 
added Philip Ollier, laughing heartily, “as far off as 
ever from its accomplishment Eh, Ben?” 

“We are certainly no nearer to it,” said Benjamin 
Longmore, “but. before I die I shall be master of Mon 
Repos. ” 

I stared at him, he spoke with such absolute convic- 
tion. He simply nodded, and said. “ You will see.” 

“Did you know its name,” I asked, “when your 
minds were made up to purchase it, willy nilly, from 
the owner ? ” 

“No, '* replied Philip Ollier, “it was not till every- 
thine was finished that those silver letters were fixed on 

o 

the gate.” 


MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 


3 ° 

“And who is the owner ? ” inquired Mrs. Longmore. 

Philip Ollier laughed again. “We have not the 
slightest idea ; it is an absurd feature in this disposal of 
his property that we never set eyes on him. It is clear 
lie must be a gentleman of taste and refinement, for 
though we were not fortunate enough to make his ac- 
quaintance — which was a pity, you know, for he might 
have said to us, * What is the use of waiting ? Take it 
now’ — we understood that everything was being done 
under his direction and in accordance with his own de- 
sign. To build and furnish the house, to lay out the 
grounds and cut the walks, to plant the foreign trees, 
et cetera, et cetera, took four years, and during the 
whole of that time we never missed an opportunity of 
watching their progress. We made ourselves so famil- 
iar with every detail that we could draw a plan of the 
rooms and gardens, and tell you the fashion of much 
of the furniture and belongings. There are famous pic- 
tures in the house, Mrs. Longmore, if they have not 
been removed; we saw them carried in, and on more 
than one occasion were permitted to enter the apart- 
ments while the furniture was being arranged. It was 
the whim of the owner not to take up his residence in 
the house till it was thoroughly ready for occupation, 
and it was this whim that afforded us opportunities' Of 
getting upon intimate terms with his treasures. Ben, 
we ought to have employed a watchman to see that 
nore of them were taken away. The last day we were 
inside the grounds was at the winding up of one of our 
vacations, and these handsome gates had just been 
brought to the place. When our holidays came round 
again we trudged here to see our palace, anddound the 
gates fixed and the walls around the estate very effect- 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


3 


ually completed. I give you my word/' said Philip 
Ollier, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, “that we 
felt as if we were unlawfully debarred from entering 
upon our own property. There was no help for it, how- 
ever ; shut out we were, and there was no getting in. 
We couldn't very well ring and insist upon admittance, 
and if we stole an entrance by climbing over the wall 
we should doubtless have been marched off to the sta- 
tion house by a policeman. But to this hour we are 
sentimental enough to regard Mon Repos as connected 
with our lives in some strange way, and if it should 
happen that it were destroyed by fire I have no doubt 
we should look upon it as a personal loss. Of course 
we are a couple of fools, and having many a year ago 
reached the age when the stern affairs of life compel 
men to bid farewell to boyish romance, there is no ex- 
cuse for us." 

‘ ‘ There is every excuse for you, " said Mrs. Longmore. 
“ What would life be without its dreams, without its air- 
built castles ? It does not harm us when we become men 
and women to dwell upon these fancies of our youth. 
If they do nothing more, they supply us with pleasant 
memories ; but they really do more than this. They 
soften, they humanize, they keep our hearts green." 

“Phil," said Benjamin Longmore, speaking still with 
determination, “ I stick to my guns. Project yourself 
mentally into the future, and behold me master of Mon 
Repos, where I shall hold out the hand of welcome to 
my dear old friend." 

“Or I to you," said Philip Ollier, with odd insistance. 

“Or you to me," responded Benjamin Longmore. 
“ It is a race. Let the best man win." 

“Or the luckiest, Ben." 


32 MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 

“It doesn’t matter which, so long as the end is 
reached. ” 

“Above all,” said Philip Ollier, in a low tone which 
did not reach Mrs. Longmore’s ears ; but I heard the 
remark, “let us keep it from the grasp of Jones.” 

A dark shade flashed into Benjamin Longmore’s face, 
but it passed away as he gazed upon his wife. 

“ Mon Repos ! ’’she murmured. “ It is an invitation 
to rest. How sweet to live in such a spot, after a life 
of toil and labor ! I can imagine no happier lot.” 

“You shall live to enjoy it,” said Benjamin Long- 
more. 

Mrs. Longmore sighed. I knew what she was think- 
ing of: “I shall die the first week in September.” 
And it was now near the end of July. 

We rode quietly home, and it gladdened me to ob- 
serve that the hands of husband and wife were clasped 
under her mantle. It is sweet to witness the spring 
love of young lovers, but far sweeter to witness the 
love of husband and wife after some years of com- 
panionship. I could not at that time, and I do not 
now, comprehend the contradictions in the character of 
Benjamin Longmore. It is to me a mystery how ten- 
der qualities and their opposites can reside in the breast 
of a mortal, how a man can be loving and cruel, the 
soul of kindness and the soul of injustice. If in the in- 
visible air there are, as I have read, angels &nd evil 
spirits, tempting us, pleading to us, urging us to paths 
of darkness and paths of light, how careful we should 
be in every step we take in life that affects ourselves, in 
every judgment we pronounce that affects the lives of 
those who are bound to us, who depend upon us, who 
draw from us the love that lightens the darkest hour 


MERRY . i MERRY BOYS. 


33 


and sustains their faith and hope in the journey from 
the cradle to the grave. 

Philip Ollier was the first to express real alarm at 
Mrs. Longmore’s state of health. He, as well as the 
members of the Longmore family, held me in esteem 
and overrated my services. Towards the middle of 
August he dropped a few words to me which showed 
that he was disturbed by certain signs in Mrs. Long- 
more which had forced themselves on his attention. 

“All in this house, ” he was good enough to say, 
“depend upon you so much that you are looked upon 
as a guide in serious matters.” 

Not divining to what he wasabout to refer I said that 
life was made up of light as well as of serious matters, 
and that indeed it was small affairs which generally 
caused the greatest anxieties. 

“That is true/’ he said, “but what is in my mind is 
a matter of the utmost gravity. You, more than any 
of us, except perhaps Mr. Longmore, have opportuni- 
ties of judging how his wife really is. If we lost her” 
— he paused, and I did not break the silence. He con- 
tinued : “I had it in my mind to speak to Mr. Long- 
more, but I do not wish to distress him I hope unneces- 
sarily. I am not asking you to break any confidence 
which may have been reposed in you, but you may be 
able to relieve my anxiety. To speak plainly, Mrs. 
Longmore appears to me to be fading away, and every 
time I come to this house it is with a feeling of dread 
that something terrible may have occurred.” 

“I share your apprehensions,” I said, painfully care- 
ful in my choice of words, “but what we are saying 
springs from the fear which is born of love ; it scarcely 
can be said to have a more solid foundation. The doc- 


34 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


tor speaks hopefully of our dear patient. We may be 
alarming ourselves unnecessarily, and it would* be pro- 
ductive of mischief to let our feelings be seen.” 

“What pains me deeply,” said Philip Ollier, “is that 
she never complains.” 

“She has the patience and the moral strength of an 
angel,” I said. “It is not in her nature to grieve those 
she loves by the exhibition of selfishness in any form. 
Let us follow her example. We must conceal our fears, 
and hope for the best. Human skill and science can do 
no more than is being done.” 

He pressed my hand, and did not pursue the subject. 
Hope for the best ! Yes, but I felt that it was hoping 
against hope ; and yet at times, so cheerful and uncom- 
plaining was my dear mistress that I was animated by 
the vision of a brighter prospect in the future. On the 
first day in September, however, the dark shadow that 
hung over the house showed itself all too plainly. 


MERRY . , MERRY BOYS. 


35 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SUN WAS SHINING AND THE SOFT AIR FLOWED INTO THE 

ROOM. 

The doctor, issuing from Mrs. Longm ore’s room, 
came to me as usual to say a few words about the 
patient. I always received his report, and conveyed 
it, word for word, to Benjamin Longmore in the even- 
ing, upon his return home from business. 

“Mr. Longmore is not in the house ? ” he asked. 

“ No, sir,” I replied, with a sinking heart. I felt what 
was coming. 

“ He comes home generally at about half past five, I 
believe.” 

“At about that time, sir,” I said, clasping my hands. 
How pregnant are simple words upon such an occasion 
as this ! The doctor’s commonplace remarks were as far 
removed from the utterance of a death warrant as could 
well be conceived, but as clearly as though it were 
written upon the wall in letters of fire I saw the sen- 
tence pronounced. 

“Well, well,” said the doctor, after a moments con- 
sideration, “there is no absolute necessity to summon 
him home. There is time yet, and we can wait, we 
can wait.” He drew on his gloves thoughtfully as he 
spoke. 


MERR Y, MERE V BOYS. 


3 6 

‘‘You have bad news, sir,” I said in a whisper. 

He fixed his eyes on my face, and seemed to be 
studying my character, concerning which most prob- 
ably he had not troubled himself before. 

“You have the control of the domestic affairs of the 
house,” he said, “and you are in a position of trust. 
Deservedly, deservedly.” 

“I thank you, sir, but you have not answered my 
question. You have bad news? ” 

“What we have to consider,” he said, still parrying 
my question, from no unkindness I am sure, “is our 
patient — first of all, our patient.” 

“She is our first consideration, sir; she is the spirit- 
ual life of this home.” 

“The spiritual life. Yes, that is where it is. They 
are grave words, Miss Felicia.” 

“Yes, sir, they are grave words, but they were not 
spoken in the sense in which you received them.” 

“ I cannot suppose they were, but I am sadly com- 
pelled to look upon the practical, the professional side.” 

“I implore you, sir, to relieve my anxiety.” 

He withdrew the glove he had just put on, and took 
my hand, and felt my pulse. 

“If you will calm yourself, Miss Felicia, I will say 
something further. If you cannot control your feel- 
ings I shall say nothing more, and must ask you to be 
as little with Mrs. Longmore as possible until Mr. 
Longmore returns home.” 

“ I am calm, sir.” 

I compelled myself to be so, and he gazed at me 
approvingly. 

“That is better, much better; your pulse is less 
feverish already. What we must avoid, Miss Felicia, 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


37 


is any appearance of anxiety or nervousness. Your 
pulse continues to improve. You will obey my direc- 
tions ?” 

“Implicitly, sir.” 

“ I can trust you. Mrs. Longmore has the highest 
opinion of you, Miss Felicia, and your presence and 
companionship are beneficial to her. They must con- 
tinue to be, for her sake, for the sake of all who are 
connected with her.” 

“They shall be, sir.” 

His lips quivered slightly, and it was to me an indi- 
cation that he had something more than a professional 
regard for my dear mistress ; from the highest to the 
lowest every person who came into association with 
her loved this sweet and good woman. 

“If it were possible,” said the doctor, “I should 
wish her to see none but cheerful faces about her ; but 
when Mr. Longmore hears what I have to say, that 
perhaps will be impossible. We must do the best we 
can, however.” 

As he seemed to wait for my assent I said, “Yes, 
sir, I understand.” 

“There is a grave change in Mrs. Longmore s con- 
dition. I do not say there is any immediate cause to 
expect the worst — that is, to-day or to-morrow — but I 
greatly fear it will come soon, perhaps before the week 
is out. It is sad, very, very sad, but all the science in 
the world cannot avert the Divine fiat.” 

“Is she suffering, sir, is she in pain ? ” 

“ I can give you a comforting answer. She is not 
suffering, except naturally in her heart at the thought 
that she soon will be separated from her husband and 
her child ; she is not in pain. She will pass away in 
peace. ” 


33 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


Something rose in my throat, and I turned my head 
from him ; and he was good enough not to reprove me. 

“We must,” he continued, “ all of us, do everything 
that lies in our power to make her last days on earth 
peaceful and happy. It is for that reason I wish to see 
Mr. Longmore myself; and you will help me in this.” 

“Indeed, indeed I will, sir.” 

“ I shall call again twice to-day, at two o’clock to 
see Mrs. Longmore, and at five to see her husband.” 

“Are there any distressing symptoms, sir? ” 

“None. She is wasting away, surely and swiftly. 
She has but a small reserve of strength left, and that 
will be exhausted — too soon, too soon. It is wonder- 
ful how she has borne up, how she has managed to 
deceive us. But, there — nothing could have been done, 
except perhaps ” — he shook his head impatiently — “to 
hasten her end.” 

“She has no thought of herself, sir; she thinks only 
of those she loves.” 

“A good woman, Miss Felicia, a sweet and noble 
lady. Heaven’s gates are opening for her.” 

“Pardon me, sir. She shall not see me so.” 

I had covered my face with my hands. He took 
them in his own when I removed them, and gently 
patted them. 

“And now, if you are quite strong, I will go ; I have 
other patients to visit. If you can induce her to take 
some strong soup every hour, a little at a time, and 
half a glass of port wine — no more, Miss Felicia — so 
much the better. I am satisfied that I leave her in 
good hands. Let her child be with her as long as she 
desires. Thwart her in nothing ; she will ask for noth- 
she ought not to have ; and she will do nothing she 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


39 


ought not to do. She will husband her strength, the 
little she has left, for the sake, as you say, of those she 
loves. ” 

He bade me good morning, and left me, and I went 
to my dear mistress, first bathing my eyes and face in 
cold water. She received me with a cheerful smile, 
and asked me if the doctor had been speaking to me, 
and I replied that he had. 

“He knows all,” she said, “and though he did not 
tell me in so many words, he feels as I feel. Is he 
coming again to-day ?.” 

“Yes, at two o’clock.” 

“And again, after that? 

“Yes, at five, to see Mr. Longmore.” 

“It is very kind of him to break the news. My 
poor husband ! How will he bear it ? Miss Felicia, go 
and see if Gracie is asleep. If she is, do not disturb 
her, but leave word with the nurse that she is to bring 
my darling to me when she wakes. I am jealous of 
every moment now.” 

I did as she bade me, and returning, told her that 
Grace was sleeping. 

“ How wise and beneficent is nature,” she said. 
“Childhood cannot realize these sorrows. When she 
sees me by and by she will think I am asleep.” 

I moved about the room, performing my duties 
quietly and without any outward demonstration of 
grief. 

“ The doctor says that I may have the window open 
if I wish. Open it, please. It is a lovely day.” 

The sun was shining, and the soft air flowed into the 
room. There were flowers on the sill, and from the 
garden came the sweet piping of birds. 


40 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


“ The world is very beautiful, Miss Felicia; it is 
filled with sweet marvels. But for you I should be 
sorry to leave it.” 

“The confidence you have in me gladdens my heart, 
my dear mistress.” 

“Your dear friend, Miss Felicia.” 

“My dear friend,” I said. 

“If it were given to me to realize a wish I should 
ask the Divine Arbiter to allow me to stay with my 
child, to see her grow into womanhood, to share her 
joys and sorrows ; but it is not to be, and I have 
schooled myself to resignation and content. I think 
with ineffable gratitude that you will be by her side, 
and that she will have in you a counsellor and a guide, 
a protector from the rocks and shoals which lie in the 
path of young and trustful lives.” 

“I devote myself to her, dear friend; but without 
me her own good instincts would guide her aright.” 

“It is my hope that she will grow into goodness 
and virtue. Especially do I desire that she should im- 
bibe, as she will, through you, a proper understanding 
of the value of the contradictory influences by which 
she will be surrounded, by which we are all surrounded 
as we travel onwards. I can raise up a picture of her 
as she will be in the first flush of womanhood. She 
will be very beautiful.” 

“She is sure to be; I have never seen a sweeter 
face. ” 

“How I pity those who are not so endowed! 
Beauty is a heavenly gift, and in association with a 
pure soul, unstained by worldly temptation, has a great 
power for good. I think of that when I think of my 
husband. He will be proud of Gracie, she will sweeten 


r 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


41 


his life; it will give her influence over him. You will 
also be his friend, Miss Felicia. ’’ 

“ I will be all to him that he will allow me to be.” 

“ He has a regard and respect for you ; he has spoken 
to me about you many times, and said how fortunate 
we were in finding you. He thinks you have very 
sound opinions.” 

“Except, I am afraid, that I am not worldly wise.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, he believes that, but only so far as your 
own interests are concerned. He told me what you 
said about being better able perhaps to look after the 
interests of others, and he is convinced’ that it is so. 
You will take my place with my dear Gracie. I hope 
she will not forget me ; I should like to feel that I leave 
an abiding memory with her, young as she is.” 

“ She will remember you all her life.” 

“All her life, ” she murmured, “I shall watch over 
her.” 

Her eyes closed as she spoke the words ; I moved 
softly to her side, and saw that she had fallen into 
slumber. The moment she awoke I brought her child 
to her. Shortly afterwards the doctor called again, and 
exchanged cheering words with her. When he left her 
I accompanied him to the door, and asked if there was 
still no hope. 

“There is none,” he said, “there can be none. If 
she is brighter to-morrow, if she seems stronger, do not 
deceive yourselves. The fate that hangs over her is 
inevitable. Miss Felicia, I would give double, treble 
my fees if I could save her. When nature pronounces 
sentence, art is powerless.” 

I cannot refrain here from paying a tribute to this kind 
gentleman, whose life is an honor to the profession he 


42 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


adorns. But indeed in what ranks of professional labor 
can more unselfish kindness be found than in the ranks 
of those who minister to the sick ? Surely there must 
be some beneficent influence in the work they do that 
humanizes and softens the heart, that makes it respond 
willingly and cheerfully to the appeals of those who 
suffer? Numberless are the instances that can be ad- 
duced of the wonderful goodness of doctors, renowned 
and eminent, who sacrifice their time without expecta- 
tion or desire of return for the inestimable services 
they render. I have no hesitation in saying that of all 
arts it is the most ennobling and beautiful, and that its 
record of kind deeds is matchless and unapproachable. 
With all my heart Isay, “God bless the doctors for the 
good they do, for the good they are enabled to do ! ” 

At half past five Benjamin Longmore returned home. 
His face fell as the doctor went forward to meet him. 

“ My God ! ” he exclaimed. “What is the matter ? ” 

I was in the room when he and the doctor met, and 
I left it immediately. They were closeted together for 
a quarter of an hour or so, and then Benjamin Long- 
more came out with a face like death itself. 

“You must not go in to her like that, sir,” I said. 
“ You will frighten her.” 

He looked at me helplessly, and allowed me to lead 
him back to the room. The doctor had taken his 
parture. 

“Is it true ? ” he muttered. “Can it be true ? ” 

“Be strong, my dear master.” I said. “I can offer 
you no consolation, but for the sake of the dear sufferer 
be strong ! ” 

“Oh, my wife, my darling!” he cried, and covering 
his face with his hands, burst into tears. 


MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 


43 

I did not disturb him ; ones nature, whether it be 
demonstrative or placid, must assert itself, and in mat- 
ters so sorrowful as this it is best that the first ebulli- 
tion of feeling should be unchecked. Therefore I did 
not direct or attempt to control him, but waited till he 
regained commaud of himself. This he did quite sud- 
denly, to my surprise, and even in that moment of 
grief I could not help thinking that although I had 
lately devoted much attention to the study of Benja- 
min Longmore’s character, there were depths in it 
which I had not yet sounded. As I have said, he 
gained command over his feelings quite suddenly, and 
I saw, from his manner that he was not likely to allow 
them to sway him in his wife’s presence. 

“Can I see her now ? ” he asked in a humble tone. 

“ Yes, sir,’’ I replied. “ You will remember that it 
will be for her good not to give way.” 

He nodded, and we went together to Mrs. Long- 
more’s room. It was as much as I could do to keep 
my tears back when I witnessed how she received him. 
With infinite tenderness and sweet pity in her eyes she 
extended her hands to him — as though it .was he who 
was shortly to be torn from the sphere of love and will- 
ing duty. 

I smoothed her pillow, and saying I would be within 
call if I was wanted I left the room. It was nearly 
eight o’clock before Benjamin Longmore quitted her 
side. I had kept dinner back for him, and had it on 
the table ready when he entered the dining room. 

“Come, sir,” I said, “you must be hungry, and 
must force yourself to eat.” This last injunction be- 
cause he had shaken his head. “You must do what 
you can to sustain your strength ; you will be the bet- 
ter able to sustain hers.” 


44 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


The argument was irresistible ; he sat down and ate, 
but he ate in silence. I stole to Mrs. Longmore’s room 
before his meal was finished, and returning told him 
that his wife was sleeping. 

“ She will not sleep long.” I said; “she generally 
wakes after she has slumbered an hour or two.” 

Without waiting for the cloth to be cleared he began 
to write letters, and looking up once, said : 

“I am excusing myself from business, Miss Felicia, 
and shall not leave the house this week.” 

“It will be a comfort to her, sir,” I said, “to have 
you with her.” 

“Tell me,” he said. “You are a wise woman, 
much wiser than I thought you in the beginning of our 
acquaintance. Do you believe the doctor is right? ” 

“If I could only believe otherwise, sir,” I said, and 
was going on when he interrupted me. 

“ That is enough. No one holds out a ray of hope.” 

He sat in gloomy silence, biting his lip nervously, 
and did not speak till we heard a soft knock at the 
street door. 

“That is Philip Ollier,” he said. “For the last 
month he has been careful to knock very quietly, so 
that my dear wife should not be disturbed by a loud or 
abrupt sound. He, you and all others have seen what 
I have been blind to. And yet — and yet — who loves 
her as I love her? ” 

Some time afterwards, in recalling these natural 
words, I thought of what he said to me when we first 
met, that his wife’s eyes were in her heart, and his in 
his head. In matters of pure sympathy there lies all 
the difference. 

He was in his passion of grief when Phillip Ollier 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


4 5 ' 

came in. He cast but one glance upon Benjamin 
Longmore, and he knew all. 

“Ben, Ben ! ” he said, with his arms across his 
friend’s shoulders. 

“The worst has not happened, Phil,” sobbed Benja- 
min Longmore, “but it will soon. We have not long 
to wait.” 

My duties took me from the room, and I was glad 
that my master had a sympathetic soul by his side to 
comfort and sustain him. 

At ten o’clock that night Mrs. Longmore awoke ; I 
was sitting by her bed. There was a strange look in 
her eyes, which presently, however, recovered their 
clear light. 


46 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE CHILDREN CAME TOWARDS HER, TOUCHED HER DRESS, AND 

GAZED UP AT HER AS THEY WOULD HAVE GAZED UP AT AN 

ANGEL. 

“You have been sitting here for some time/' she 
said. 

“ Yes,” I said. 

“I must tell you of a fancy I have had,” she said, 
but she broke off by asking whether Gracie was sleep- 
ing well and quietly. To more completely assure her 
I went to the child’s room, and came back and told 
her that Gracie was fast asleep. 

“And my husband?” she asked. 

“He is down stairs ; Mr. Ollier is with him.” 

“Dear Phillip Ollier! With two such friends as you 
and that good man always with him, what harm can 
befall ! ” . 

And yet that she had some hidden cause for appre- 
hension in the future was evident to me ; but I did not 
trouble her by inquiring into it, knowing that if she re- 
quired sympathy and advice in any matter she wished 
to broach she would seek them from me. 

“About my fancy,” she said. “Perhaps it is be- 
cause the doctor has confirmed what I have known for 
some time that I was visited by it. Indeed, before I 
went to sleep — how long ago, Miss Felicia ? ” 


MERRY i MERRY BOYS. 


47 


“Two hours. It is now ten o’clock.” 

“When I closed my eyes, and felt that sleep would 
soon hold me fast in its arms, I thought. ‘ Shall I wake 
up again in this world? ’ Shall I see the dear ones who 
fill my heart ? Shall I feel their kisses again on my 
lips ? ’ I would have struggled against the disposition 
for sleep, but I felt that it would be wrong to do so, and 
presently I became unconscious. I awoke many min- 
utes ago, but did not dare to open my eyes ; I lay quite 
still, thinking whether I was alive or dead. I knew 
that some form was near me, and I thought it might be 
the form of an angel, and not a human being. Should I 
repine, or be glad, if I found that I had left my home and 
my husband and child ? Upon this came other thoughts. 
Is there grief, is there sorrow in the future state, or is it all 
light and joy, and happiness? Then I breathed the 
prayer, ‘God’s will be done.’ I opened my eyes, and 
saw you sitting here, and I was glad. Give me your 
hand, Miss Felicia — ah, that is the clasp of a friend. 
Yes, I was truly glad. Eternity is long, and my time 
here is so short. To-day is Tuesday ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, 
Sunday — the day of rest ! I shall live till then, dear 
Felicia. The days are still long, and I think we shall 
have bright weather all the week. Step downstairs 
and ask Philip Ollier if he can let Edward come here 
every day this week. It will be a holiday for the dear 
lad, for he must not know — nor must Gracie. Be careful 
of that. I want to see Gracie and Edward together as 
much as possible.” 

I went down to the friends, and gave Mrs. Long- 
more’s message, and Philip Ollier said his boy should 


48 MERRY i MERRY BOYS. 

come. Afterwards he asked whether and when Mrs. 
Longmore could see him. 

“I will let you know to-morrow,” I said. 

The friends gave a simultaneous* sigh of relief, and 
their faces momentarily brightened. They caught from 
my words that there was no immediate danger, and that 
Mrs. Longmore would live over the morrow. Imme- 
diately afterwards Philip Ollier took his departure ; he 
would not keep Benjamin Longmore from his wife. 

On the following morning Edward Ollier came, and 
the two children sat in Mrs. Longmore’s room, playing 
and talking quietly. Then and always there was noth- 
ing boisterous in their intercourse. Mrs. Longmore lay 
back, contemplating them happily. When they were 
away at their dinner she told me that at length she had 
had her wish. She had dreamt of Grades future. 

“ I saw her, a bright and beautiful woman — and Ed- 
ward was with her. It will be, dear Felicia; it is a 
message from heaven.” 

It is impossible for me to say whether the children 
had any premonition of what was soon to happen, but 
it is certain from their tender and more than usually 
gentle bearing towards Mrs. Longmore that they were 
dominated by an unaccustomed influence. They would 
stand by her bedside for a long time together, without 
uttering a word unless Mrs. Longmore spoke to them 
and asked questions, Gracie fondling her mother’s hand 
or stroking her hair, and Edward very solemn and still, 
with his eyes on her face. Perhaps they were impressed 
by the quietude of the servants, who loved their mis- 
tress, or by our own demeanor, or by the frequent visits 
of the doctor. Each day they went into the garden, 
and coming back, laid some simple flowers on her pil- 


MERE Y, MERE Y BOYS. 


49 


low. How she treasured these love offerings ! Each 
time the fresh flowers were brought in she gave me 
yesterday’s tr(te|e, ifnd asked me to put them in her 
coffin. 

“What are you thinking of, Ned?” she asked once, 
as the lad was gazing solemnly on her. 

“Of my mamma,” he answered. 

“My poor boy ! ” she murmured, drawing him to her 
breast. 

When I took him away I saw that he had been shed- 
ding tears, but he said nothing. He was five years 
older than Grace, and already showed indications of 
strength of character which augured well for the future. 
The children worshipped each other ; I can find no 
other term to express the affection which existed be- 
tween them. 

So the week passed away, until Saturday arrived. 
To-morrow would be Sunday — the day of rest ! 

It was wonderful that there appeared to be no dim- 
inution of Mrs. Longmore’s strength, no dimming of 
her intellectual powers. But the doctor had warned me. 

“You will see a change to-morrow,” he said. 

With what vividness are the solemn events of that 
week ever present to me ! The memory of those days 
will be with me to my last hour. Every time I saw 
Mrs. Longmore’s eyes open after a slumber there was 
for a moment a questioning look in them ; then she 
would smile at me and gently nod her head. Two or 
three times a day, and always when night was coming 
on, Benjamin Longmore would take my place by her 
side, and I used to think that nothing that could occur 
in his future life would efface the lessons he must have 
learned in those solemn hours. To me Mrs. Longmore 

4 


4 


5 0 MERR Y, MERR Y BO KS*. 

was, and is, a saint in her qualities of patience, faith, 
and mercy. 

There is something I have not mentioned. Not alone 
in her house were her sweet qualities displayed. She 
possessed in her own right a small income ; it was a 
legacy left to her by her father, and its exact amount 
was fifty-two pounds, that is, one pound a week. Ben- 
jamin Longmore was the manager of a tea business in 
the city, and his salary was six hundred pounds per an- 
num. Upon this the household was maintained in fair 
comfort, but nothing was put by for a rainy day, as the 
saying is, Benjamin Longmore being by no means eco- 
nomically inclined. His firm conviction that he would 
at some time become very wealthy may have been the 
cause of this disregard for the future ; anyway the fact 
remained, that rent, servants, clothing, and the main- 
tenance of the house swallowed up every shilling of his 
salary ; and he was quite satisfied that it should be so. 
His wife’s income of fifty-two pounds he would not 
touch, and with his full concurrence and consent she 
disposed of it thus : Half of it was dispensed in chari- 
ties, the other half was put by for Grace, to accumulate 
till she was twenty-one years of age. Then it was to 
be hers absolutely. Of the investment of this twenty- 
five pounds a year Benjamin Longmore took charge, 
and as he had a shrewd head for business it was in- 
vested well. There remained for Mrs. Longmore’s 
charities ten shillings a week. 

Until she was unable to leave the house, except in a 
carriage, Mrs. Longmore dispensed her charities herself, 
visiting her pensioners and making herself acquainted 
with their special wants ; but from the time that she was 
unable to go out these charitable offices were delegated 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


5 


to me, and I need not say that I undertook them gladly. 
It was then I discovered that she, too, was wise in her 
way, and that the money she gave was given with 
discrimination. And yet, dare I, who am no political 
economist, say as much? In charity I have but one 
thought, and Mrs. Longmore and I were alike in the 
view we took. Did the persons she relieved require 
relief ? There was no question of deserving. Here was 
a family that required food, that were destitute of cloth- 
ing, that had no boots fit to wade through deep snow. 
Here was a mother with a young baby, and want was 
staring them in the face — want with its gaunt and 
wolfish eyes. The question whether the family was 
deserving or not did not occur to Mrs. Longmore, and 
did not occur to me. True, the father was a lazy 
scoundrel, who would not work, who ill-treated his wife 
and children ; but the family were starving. True, the 
mother with the young baby had no husband ; but 
the wolf was at the door. Here was the argument that, 
in our belief, with mercifully-resistless weight crushed 
down all others. Human beings were craving for food, 
hunger was tearing at their vitals. Came the angel, 
my dear, dear mistress and friend, to the despairing 
ones, and bought them bread and clothing, and did not 
leave them till the terror and the horror were gone, at 
least for a little while. How then, in the face of so- 
called charity that wails, and temporizes, and discusses, 
and measures — how can I say that either my dear mis- 
tress or I was wise in doing as we did ? I see the warn- 
ing: finder shaken at me, I hear the carefuily-considered 
words addressed to me, that I am ministering to beg- 
gary, fostering it, encouraging it, and that I am an en- 
emy to the well-being of society. How shall I answer 


52 


MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 


— what shall I plead in extenuation ? That while we 
wait the inducement to crime is being engendered in the 
souls of those whose bodies require to-day what may 
possibly be given to-morrow, or the day after, when it is 
too late P A weak argument, I may be told. Perhaps 
so, but it is the strongest I can find, and I stand to it. 
As my honored mistress did, God in heaven (where her 
dear spirit now is) bless her for it ! 

It properly belongs to the story I am telling to relate 
the incidents of one memorable day. 

When the weakness was coming upon her, and Mrs. 
Longmore felt — she confessed as much to me subse- 
quently — that the time was approaching when she 
would have to hand over to a deputy the merciful 
offices which she was performing herself, she asked me 
for the first time to accompany her on her rounds. We 
rode in an omnibus to the poorest part of the city, 
down east end way, and there my mistress and I went 
into a very wretched room — a room horrible with 
gloom and misery. But as she stood in it in her silver 
gray dress, her sweet and pitiful eyes gazing around 
the fetid walls and on the pinched faces of hungry 
children, I thought of the Son of God, and I recognized 
in her the true type of Christianity. I could have 
knelt at her feet and worshipped her, and in my heart 
of hearts I blessed and revered her. Ah, me ! The 
children came towards her, touched her dress, and 
gazed up at her as they would have gazed up at an 
angel. She knelt and said she had brought something 
nice for them, and opened the baskets we carried, and 
there was food which we had bought on the road. 
They laughed and clapped their hands, and the mother 
trembled and cried, and we waited while they ate, my 


MERR Y y ME RR Y BO VS. 


53 


sainted mistress talking cheerfully all the time, and I 
with my poor efforts striving to aid her. My heart 
over-brims my eyes as I recall the incidents of that day. 
Pardon me awhile ; I must lay aside my pen. 


54 


MERR V, MERRY BOVS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

I HAVE READ OF WOMEN LIKE YOU, BUT HAVE NEVER BEFORE 
MET WITH ONE. 

So the poor children were satisfied, and what re- 
mained of the food was given to the mother for to- 
morrow". Then my dear mistress called for cold water, 
and washed the hands and faces of the children, and 
tidied their clothes, having brought with her needles, 
thread, and buttons, and soap, and some tow r els which 
she could spare from her store at home. 

“Now, children,” she said, “mother will read you 
the beginning of a nice story before you go to bed. ” 

The book she gave the mother was not a religious 
book, but a simple and amusing tale, wdth a good 
moral hidden in its plot. I remember that on this 
occasion it was an old book of Edward Ollier’s which 
his father had given him on a birthday. My dear mis- 
tress was an assiduous beggar of clothes and books 
which had served their day, and apportioned them 
with her own hands to those who most needed them. 
She was very fond of begging from her friends such 
tales of adventure as she approved of, and she would 
spend hours in fastening loose leaves and mending 
broken bindings. But this is wmndering a little from 
the special events of this memorable day. 


MERE Y, MERRY BOYS. 


55 


Mrs. Longmore’s Christian task being finished, she 
shook hands with the mother and children, and prom- 
ising to come again, stood for a moment smiling and 
nodding brightly at them. 

What had come over them ? What had come over the 
place ? It was the same place, they were the same 
children, but all was changed. Their faces were no 
longer sullen and pinched ; there was a light in their 
eyes, there was gratitude in their hearts ; and the room 
was transformed from an abode of gloom to an abode 
of hope. Mrs. Longmore nodded and smiled once more, 
and went away, leaving sunshine behind her. 

“ Miss Felicia,” she said in a blithe voice, when we 
were in the streets, “that has done me good. I feel 
strong enough to walk a long way. We will ride to 
Regent Street, and walk home through the Park.” 

There was music in her voice, and the motion of her 
limbs were like those of a young maid in the full flush 
of health. At the end of Regent Street we alighted and 
commenced our walk. 

The day was cold, but the air was dry, and there 
was a bright light in the sky. When we arrived at the 
Park, we sat on a bench and watched the children feed- 
ing the ducks. I did not observe, until he rose and 
strolled slowly away, that a man, holding a little girl 
be the hand, was sitting on the same bench upon which 
we were resting. Mrs. Longmore had seen him, and 
now, as he strolled aimlessly towards the water, her 
eyes followed him. This drew my attention more par- 
ticularly to him and the child, and I observed that they 
seemed to be both respectably dressed ; but a closer 
observance confirmed an impression I had formed 
that this appearance of respectability was due to the 


MERRY , MERRY ROYS. 


56 

care that had been bestowed upon their clothes, which 
were skillfully mended and patched. Their boots were 
well worn, but they had been blackened ; their hands 
and faces were clean, and their hair properly combed 
and brushed. 

“ Look at that man’s face, Miss Felicia,” said Mrs. 
Longmore. 

I did so. Not only the face, but the varying expres- 
sions upon it, were such as to compel attention. His 
features were strongly marked, and there was a look of 
pain in his fine eyes. This look changed into one of 
yearning as he stopped and watched the children throw- 
ing food to the ducks. Two children, comfortably 
dressed and accompanied by their nurse, were taking 
buns from a full bag and throwing them in large 
pieces upon the water. His eyes wandered from the 
ducks and the buns to the little girl whose hand he 
held tight in his own. 

“He is in trouble,” said Mrs. Longmore, and she 
walked towards him ; I followed her, and stood near 
enough to hear what passed. 

Mrs. Longmore stooped and patted the cheek of the 
child. 

“ May I ask your name, my dear ? ” she said. 

The child nestled closer to her father, and raised her 
eyes shyly, but could not muster courage to reply. 

“Her name is Mary,” said the man, and casting a 
glance upon Mrs. Longmore walked onwards a few 
paces. 

Mrs. Longmore lingered a moment at this rebuff, and 
then walked softly after them. 

“ 1 beg you to pardon me if I am in error,” she said 
in the gentle voice which went straight to the heart of 
all who heard it, “but your child — and you, also, if 


MERRY. \ MERRY BOYS. 


57 


you will forgive me for saying so — seems as if she 
wanted a friend. My name is Longmore ; this is my 
friend, Miss Felicia. I have a little girl of my own, 
just the age of your child, and I was attracted by her 
sweet face.” 

“ And by mine, may I ask,” said the man, speaking 
respectfully but firmly, “ which is not sweet? ” 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Longmore frankly, “and by 
yours.” 

“Can you read what is written on it?” he asked, 
his eyes gazing into hers. 

“ Not clearly,” said Mrs. Longmore, “ but something 
moved me to address you. I can say nothing in ex- 
cuse of the liberty I have taken.” 

“It isn’t much of a liberty,” said the man, ponder- 
ing over her words, and still gazing steadily at her, 
“and no excuse is required. Friendly voices are not 
so common that a man should shut his ears to them. 
Do I look like a beggar, madam ? ” 

“ Indeed, indeed you do not,” said Mrs. Longmore 
earnestly. 

“And yet you, a perfect stranger to me — hold hard 
a bit, though. Perhaps you know me.” 

“I do not. I never saw you before.” 

“It is strange, and unusual — very unusual. I was 
about to say that, although you do not take me for a 
beggar, you speak to me in a manner which has a 
sympathetic touch in it. I thank you in my little Mary’s 
name.” 

His speech was that of a man who had received a 
good education, and I was attracted by it and by his 
bearing. 

“How old is Mary ? ” 

“Four, ” 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


5 * 

“ That is about the age of my little girl. Her name 
is Grace. ” 

“ Plainly, madam, why are you speaking to me?” 

“Have I not told you ? Because you both seem to 
need a friend/' 

“ And if we did, would you be that friend?” 

“ If it lies in my power to be.” 

“There is a singular magnetism in you,” said the 
man, “ and though. I am believed to have a strong 
character of my own, it has a kind of power over me. 
I have a respect for strength of character in man or 
woman. Perhaps that doesn’t please you ; you would 
rather I said gentleman or lady.” 

“No ; I think your expression is proper.” 

“Would you mind my thinking a bit, madam ? ” 

“Not at all ; but do not leave me without giving me 
the opportunity I desire ? ” 

“ Of proving yourself a friend ? ” 

“ Yes, of proving myself a friend.” 

“ It is curious,” he said. 

He was about to move away with his child when 
he found himself in a difficulty. He still held one of 
Mary’s hands, but Mrs. Longmore held the other, and 
the child did not seem inclined to leave my mistress. 
He hesitated, then dropped Mary's hand, and stepped 
aside. I saw that a struggle was going on within him ; 
two or three times he turned his thoughtful face to Mrs. 
Longmore and his little girl, and contemplated them 
while he was mentally debating. Presently he came 
to some sort of conclusion. 

“It would be folly,” he said, “perhaps worse than 
folly to throw aside the helping hand when it is held 
out to me. It would be a bad kind of pride in a 
man in my position, with a child who claims support 


MERKY, MERRY BOYS. 


59 


from him. For her sake, then, if not for my own.” 

Here I ventured to say a word. I saw that my dear 
mistress was tired, and I asked him if he would mind 
sitting down with her, telling him that she was not 
strong. This turned the current of his thoughts, and 
afforded him an opportunity, of which he instantly 
availed himself, to show some sympathy for her in 
return for the sympathy she had shown for him. 

We walked to the bench we had left, and sat down, 
and Mrs. Longmore took Mary on her lap. Without 
letting the child see or hear her she motioned with her 
head to the man, and asked him, in a whisper if she 
had a mother. 

“ No,” he answered in a voice as quiet as hers. 

Mrs. Longmore drew the child closer to her breast, 
and the mans lips trembled a little. 

“ Mary,” he said, “go and look at the ducks and the 
water. ” 

Evidently accustomed to obey him the child lifted 
herself from Mrs. Longmore’s lap, and went towards 
the water, where she stood, gazing wistfully at the fun 
that was going on there. 

“A man doesn’t want his child to hear everything he 
says,” the man said; “young as Mary is she might 
remember with pain and humiliation a painful and 
humiliating confession. My name is MacMillan, John 
MacMillan, and I am a working carpenter. I was not 
brought up to the trade ; my father was a shopkeeper 
in rather a good way, and he intended that I should be 
a shopkeeper after him. During an indolent boyhood 
— the indolence was not of my choice ; I was not ap- 
prenticed to any trade — I took a liking to fancy car- 
pentering, and buying books and tools with my pocket 
money, made myself rather proficient. Our house was 


6o 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


filled with all sorts of nick-nacks of my manufacturing, 
and I was rather vain and proud of my work. My 
father dying, I discovered that his affairs were in con- 
fusion. What he left behind him barely paid his debts. 
Everything had to be given up to his creditors, business, 
stock, and our home. That being done, there was I, 
aground, with an old mother to support, and a young 
sweetheart I wanted to marry. My fancy carpentering 
served me in good stead ; I obtained employment, and 
managed to get a living ; and then I married. My 
poor mother did not trouble us long ; a year after my 
marriage I followed her to the grave. During her last 
days she had one vain wish ; I am doing no wrong to 
her memory to call it vain. I am a man of strong 
opinions, and I never hesitate to express them. She 
wished for a fine funeral, and she made me promise to 
give her one. A promise given to a dying mother is 
sacred, and I kept mine, without undergoing any change 
in the opinion I held upon the matter — which is, that 
these expensive funerals, in poor or rich, are a woful 
mistake. Perhaps one day some part of the money 
wasted upon these exhibitions will be devoted to better 
purposes, to helping the poor, for instance. However, 
I was much commended for the fine show I gave ; I 
gained the praise of my neighbors and lost my money, 
which I could ill afford to lose. To tell the truth, I got 
into debt a bit through the funeral. ‘Never mind/ 
said I, ‘it is only working a little harder for a few 
months/ That was easily said, but not so easily done. 
Work got slack, and I worked short hours instead of 
long. Then came a strike, and I was thrown out for 
sixteen weeks. That made things worse, and though I 
did not get deeper in debt I could not pay the money I 
owed. When the strike was over I got work again, 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 6 1 

but somehow I did not get on as well as I did before 
the strike. I could get work only for three or four days 
a-week, and this I put down to my opinions. There 
was no help for it, and I did my best, but you will see 
that it was a hard struggle. I had a good wife, but she 
was delicate, and it was through her painful efforts to 
assist me — doing things when I was at work, or seek- 
ing it, which I had no notion of — that she took to her 
bed. She did not leave it ; after four months of suffer- 
ing she was carried to the churchyard. There was no 
fine funeral this time, and there would have been none 
even if I could have afforded it, for my wife and I were 
of one mind on this question. She left me a child, my 
little Mary there, and I put my shoulder to the wheel 
more vigorously than ever, doing not only fine car- 
pentering when it fell in my way, but any other thing 
in the way of making up tradesmen’s books and that 
like, that I could pick up. Bad as things were, they 
got worse. It is a man’s duty, to the last effort there 
is in him, to give his child food and to bring her up 
respectably, and I did not throw away the least chance 
of earning a few shillings or a few pence. No merit to 
me. I love work, and if I were a rich man and could 
not get it without paying for it, I would pay for it 
cheerfully, and go begging for it wdth my pockets full 
as I am now begging for it with my pockets empty. I 
owe it to myself to say that I paid my creditors in the 
end ; it was not because they threatened me with ex- 
treme measures, but because what a man owes must 
be paid, though he stand bare in the face of the world. 
How did I pay them, you may ask. Well, there was 
a watch my father gave me which I clung to, upon my 
word, as though it was alive. That went. There was 
my wife’s wedding ring, and a gold keeper. They 


62 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


went. There were a few books I treasured. They 
went. A few other things as well, and I got a clear 
quittance, and could look people in the face. I did not 
want to quite lose my self-respect. I kept rubbing on, 
and never lost hold of the anchor of hope.” He turned 
his face from us and said: “But it is slipping from 
me now.” 

Mrs. Longmore laid her hand upon his arm, and he 
said simply, “Thank you. I am coming to the end of 
my story. The worst feature in it is that I could not 
obtain regular employment, and no man tried harder 
than I did ; as hard, no doubt, for there are hundreds 
of others in the same plight as myself. Then came 
something harder than all. Being out of work, with 
no means to buy bread, I parted with my tools one by 
one. For a week or so we lived upon steel ; you don’t 
get much for tools, you know. And now, when I had 
the chance of work I could not take it because my tools 
were gone. We have had some trying days lately, my 
Mary and I, and you may wonder what brought me to 
this pleasure ground. Well, I have been endeavoring 
since six o’clock this morning to get a job — anything, 
I did not care much what it was, so that I might get 
my child a breakfast. She has asked for it — natural, 
is it not? Whom else should she ask? ‘Wait a little, 
child,’ I said to her, ‘it is quite early yet.’ Then a 
fancy seized her of coming into a park. I was in this 
neighborhood, trying my last chance with a builder, 
with the usual results, and I said, ‘Come along, Mary, 
we’ll go into the park and look at the ducks.’ Not 
much of a meal that. You saw me, I dare say, envy- 
ing those youngsters feeding the ducks with buns — see, 
they are shaking the last crumbs from the bag. Well, 
I had it in my mind to ask them to give Mary a bun 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


instead of the ducks, but though my hungry child was 
holding my hand I could not screw up my courage. 
A father should have more nerve than that, should he 
not? So I stood there, wondering how it was going to 
end when you came and spoke to me. My story is 
told. Pray forgive me for wearying you.” 

“ You have not wearied me, friend,” said Mrs. Long- 
more. “You have parted with your tools. Could you 
get work if you had them ? ” 

He looked at her sternly. “ Must I make myself a 
beggar ? ” 

“No,” she replied firmly, “you are a man, and you 
must perform a man’s duty. Would not you, in my 
position, do to another like yourself as I beg you to 
allow me to do to you ? ” 

“ I might.” 

“You would. I am not, as you are, strong-minded. 
Answer me honestly, as honestly as you have already 
spoken.” 

“ 0, you believe my story? ” 

“You have told me the truth, and I am grateful to 
you. ” 

Though I saw he was much shaken — as who in his 
place would not have been ? — so proud and rebellious 
was he that he still wavered. 

“ London,” he said slowly, “can boast of a thousand 
professional beggars who could tell you a much more 
plausible tale than I have related.” 

“ I desire you to answer me,” said Mrs. Longmore, 
and in all my experience I had never heard her speak 
with so much determination. “ Could you get work if 
you had your tools ? ” 

“ It is as good as promised to me.” 

“ How much will they cost to get ? ” 


MERRY . i MERRY BOYS. 


a a 

He put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket, than hastily 
withdrew them with an angry shake of his head. The 
pawn tickets were in that pocket, and to exhibit them 
was to exhibit what he looked upon as a degradation. 

“I can tell you the exact sum,” he said. “It is 
within one penny of eighteen shillings.” 

“Do me the pleasure of borrowing this from me. I 
can well spare it, and more.” 

She put two sovereigns into his hands, which was 
not extended to receive them. The action was so 
quietly done, and her manner was so unostentatious, 
that no person, observing them, would have dreamt 
that money had passed from one to the other. She had 
extracted the gold from her purse without either of us 
being aware of it. It did not escape my attention that 
when he felt the money in his hand he glanced around 
with a kind of shame in his face, to assure himself that 
there were no chance witnesses of what ’had been 
done. 

There was a brief silence. Then the man said: 

“ No, I will not borrow so much. One will be 
sufficient.” 

“But there is to-day to provide for,” urged Mrs. 
Lon gm ore. 

“One will be sufficient,” he repeated. 

Without further remonstrance she took back the 
sovereign. 

“ I will not thank you,” he said. “ I cannot. It is 
possible that you have saved me. I have read of women 
like you, but have never before met with one. The 
sovereign will be paid back to you. Kindly give me 
your address.” 

Another woman would have refused ; my mistress 
at once handed him her card. At that moment his 
little daughter looked over her shoulder at him. 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 65 

“ Do not offer anything to my child,” he said to my 
mistress. 

“ I will not,” she answered. 

“Mary,” he called, and the child came to us. 
“Look at this lady. I want you to remember her face, 
as I shall, to my dying day. Do you think you will 
know her again when you see her ? ” 

“O, yes, father.” 

“Say, * God bless you.’ ” 

“ God bless you ! ” said the child, raising her head. 

“And you, my dear,” said my mistress, kissing the 
little girl. 

Then, holding out her hand to the man, she beckoned 
to me, and we left them. 

Thus ended this memorable day, and the seed that 
was sown bore flower and fruit. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. 

It was Sunday, and I noted the change foretold by 
the doctor. At intervals in the early morning my dear 
mistress became so still and quiet that more than once 
I inclined my ear to her heart to convince myself that 
it had not ceased to beat. Whenever I did this she 
opened her eyes and smiled sweetly on me. Once she 
said, “I am still with you, Felicia.” Towards noon 
she brightened up a little, and it was then that she 
asked that Philip Ollier should come to her. She had 
appointed this day on which to see him and bid him 
farewell. He and his son were both in the house. 

“And let Ned come, too,” she said. 


66 MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS, 

They came softly into the room, and stood by her 
bed. 

“Ned, my dear lad/’ she said, “stoop and kiss me. 
I am hardly strong enough to raise myself. ” 

Ned lowered his head, and they kissed each other. 

“You and Gracie are great friends,” she said. 

“Yes; I am very fond of Gracie.” He showed in 
his solemn face a sense of what was impending, and 
he spoke in a whisper. 

“Always be, Ned, my dear.” 

“I will be, always.” 

“With you and Gracie, my dear, this is the playtime 
of life. By and by you will be a man, and she a 
.woman. It is then I want you to be true to her.” 

“ I shall never be anything else.” 

“To think of you being a man, a great tall man! 
And my Gracie a beautiful woman ! It is almost too 
wonderful to believe. Then you will have to work, 
Ned.” 

“ I am going to.” 

“Whatever you do, Ned, never mind how high it is 
or how low, never lose sight of two things — your faith 
and trust in God, and the duty you have to perform. 
They will help to make you happy.” 

“I will do as you say.” 

There must have been a thought in his mind that the 
promise required some sort of binding action, for he 
held up his right hand as he spoke the last words. 

“I could not speak to Gracie, my dear, as I am 
speaking to you. She would not understand. But you 
do, do you not, Ned, when I say that a faithful friend- 
ship is one of the most beautiful things in life.” 

“ I think I understand ; and I will be Grades faithful 
friend.” 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 67 

“ Kiss me again, dear child, and then I wish to speak 
to your good father alone.” 

She held him in her embrace for a little while, and 
then his father raised him from the bed and led him 
softly to the door, whispering to him that he was not 
to leave the house, but wait below. Ned’s eyes were 
overflowing, but he did not allow the least sound to 
escape him. 

“He is a dear, good lad,” said my dear mistress to 
Philip Ollier when the lad was gone, “and has a won- 
derful sense of things. He will be a great comfort to 
you.” 

“I know he will be, dear Mrs. Longmore,” said 
Philip Ollier. “I look forward to his future without 
fear.” 

“Felicia, leave me and Mr. Ollier alone for a few 
minutes.” 

I do not know what passed between them, but when 
Philip Ollier came out there was in his eyes the look of 
a man who had been praying. 

“ Go in to her,” he said, as he brushed past me. 

“Felicia,” said my mistress, “I want my child.” 

Very soon Grace was lying by her mother’s side. 
Then came the bitter trial, the terrible consciousness 
that her darling was so soon to be deprived of her 
mother’s watchful love. I witnessed the silent struggle 
that was being waged in my dear mistress’s heart. She 
conquered, and I saw on her lips, but did not hear the 
words, for indeed they were not spoken, “God’s will 
be done.” With what exquisite tenderness did she 
from that moment devote herself to make this last 
solemn hour an hour of bright memories for Grace ! 
She tried to sing the child’s favorite song, and breaking 
down, said : 


68 


MERRY, \ MERRY BOYS. 


“We will sing it together one day in heaven, dar- 
ling.” 

“0, yes, mamma,” said Grace. 

Then she asked Grace to sing her to sleep, and the 
little one began, but at this time of day it was usual for 
Grace herself to sleep, and before her song was finished 
the broken words hung upon her lips, and there was a 
holy silence in the room, the slumbering child, with 
her lovely lips parted, face to face with her dying 
mother. 

“ My darling, my darling ! ” murmured my mistress. 
“I will watch over you and guard you. Dear Lord in 
heaven, keep her heart pure, make her life happy and 
blameless ! ” 

So they lay for half an hour, and then my mistress 
whispered to me to take her away. I waited till the 
last, last kisses were given, and carried Grace to her 
own little cot, where I left her asleep. When I returned 
Benjamin Longmore w T as with his wife, holding her 
hand. 

“There is something I have to say, my dear,” said 
my mistress, “and it must be said now, and in Miss 
Felicia’s presence. It is a wish I have. If you will 
grant it you will bring a blessing upon me, upon your- 
self, upon our darling child.” 

Whatever you say shall be done,” said Benjamin 
Longmore. 

“ During my illness my mind has been filled with 
thought of you and Grace, of your future, of hers. 
You are absent from the house the greater part of the 
day. I cannot bear to think that our darling will be 
left to the care of strangers.” 

“That she shall not be.” He turned to me with 
sudden trouble. “ Miss Felicia, you are not going to 
leave us?” 


MERRY, MERRY BO ys. 


69 

“No,” I replied, “I have no such thought, no such 
wish.” 

“You anticipate me, dear,” said my mistress. “My 
most earnest desire is that Miss Felicia shall have the 
care of our darling till she is a woman and can judge 
for herself. Miss Felicia has been with us now a long 
time, and I have grown to love her. I want her to 
remain with you and Grace always ; I want her, as far 
as she can do so, to take my place with our child. It 
shall be so, shall it not ? ” 

“ It shall be so,” said Benjamin Longmore. “I give 
you my sacred promise that my home shall be hers as 
long as she chooses to have it so, and that no one but 
she shall have charge of our dear Grade.” 

“ My dear master and mistress,” I said, “ if you had 
asked me the one wish of my heart, it is this. I accept 
the sacred duty, and devote my life to its performance. 
As I deal by your dear child, so may I be dealt by.” 

Mrs. Longmore feebly stretched out her hand to me, 
and I kissed it reverently, and I kissed the hand which 
Benjamin Longmore extended to me. 

“ How good you are to me,” Mrs. Longmore said to 
her husband. “ How good you have ever been ! Miss 
Felicia will take upon herself also the disposal of the 
little I have been able to give away in charity. She 
will dispose of it as I should have done. When Gracie 
is a little older I should wish her to accompany Miss 
Felicia sometimes, to learn the lessons which I should 
have taught her had it pleased God to spare me.” 

“Everything shall be done as you desire,” said Ben- 
jamin Longmore. 

“ I think I will sleep a little. Do not leave me. 
Miss Felicia will want a little money ; she will under- 
stand soon what I mean, and will tell you. You will 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


70 

allow her to take ten pounds from Grade’s portion this 
year.” 

“ Yes, my dear wife — my poor darling ! ” 

He checked the outburst of grief, and she took his 
hand and laid her cheek upon it. I stole from the 
room. 

It was evening when Benjamin Longmore, leaning 
over the balustrade, softly called my name. In the 
meantime, the doctor had visited us, and would not 
disturb Mrs. Longmore’s slumber. He told me that 
the end was coming fast. I crept upstairs, and Ben- 
jamin Longmore took my hand, and whispering that 
he was afraid, led me into the room. Mrs. Longmore 
lay in the position in which I left her. She had not 
moved, except to release her husband’s hand. Placid 
and beautiful was her face ; there was no pain, no 
suffering in it ; it symbolized peace and resignation. 

“She lives still,” I said. 

“Will she pass away like that? ” he asked. “What 
did the doctor say ? ” 

“ He bade us prepare. Hush ! ” 

Mrs. Longmore stirred ; her eyelids quivered, but she 
did not open her eyes ; there was a movement of her 
lips. Benjamin Longmore laid his face close to hers. 

“ My dear husband ! ”she breathed, rather than said. 

“I am here, darling.” 

“And Felicia ? ” 

“Yes, my dear mistress.” 

“You have not kissed me, Felicia.” 

I put my lips to hers. 

“When I was a child, my mother, who is waiting to 
receive me ” — her voice was a little stronger, but her 
words came at intervals — “told me that Felicia means 
happiness. I never thought of it again, till just now in 


t 


MERR Y, MERR Y BO YS. 


71 


a dream I saw my mother, and she said to me, * Felicia — 
Happiness ! ’ ‘Yes, mother/ 1 answered, ‘Felicia takes 
my place with our darling Grade/ ‘She will bring 
happiness to her/ my mother said. ‘Come, my child. 
And she opened her arms to me, and in my sleep I 
fell asleep in her embrace. A dream within a dream. 
Dear husband, put your arms about me. Let me hear 
your voice/’ 

“ Darling ! ” 

“0, my dear, you must not grieve for me! Think 
of me as I soon shall be, in heaven waiting for you, as 
my mother is waiting for me ; stretching out my arms 
for you, as hers are stretching out for me. It will be 
but a little while. Time is a breath. Remember, my 
dear husband, Felicia is to be always with our dear 
child/’ 

“She shall be, always.” 

“Is it dark or light, dear? ” 

“Night is coming on,” murmured Benjamin Long- 
more, in a voice of anguish. 

“No, dear, no. Morning is coming. I feel, if I 
cannot see, the glow of sunrise. My blessing upon all 
in this house ! ” 

Her head swayed gently to and fro, her hands moved 
slowly this way and that upon the counterpane. Grad- 
ually these motions ceased till all was still. 

Thus did my beloved mistress pass away, and her 
face was as the face of an angel. 


72 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE ANGEL LADY. 

I remember that it was eight o'clock when I opened 
her desk and took out the envelope which she had 
addressed to me a few weeks before. I should not 
have been in such haste had I not thought there might 
be some instructions in her writing which needed early 
attention. This is what I found written on a sheet of 
paper upon which my name was again inscribed : 

“Dear Felicia, — Some words spoken by the poor 
man we met in the Park on the last day I was able to 
walk out made a deep impression upon me, and I have 
pondered over them with a hope and a desire to give 
in some small way practical effect to them. You will 
remember the man — he told us his name was Mac- 
millan. The words, my dear Felicia, were, ‘ These 
expensive funerals, in poor or rich, are a woful mis- 
take. Perhaps one day some part of the money wasted 
upon these exhibitions will be devoted to better pur- 
poses, to helping the poor, for instance.' There is a 
beautiful lesson in his remarks, Felicia, and I have an 
earnest desire to show that it was not wasted upon me. 

“I have not long to live. Let my death bring com- 
fort and hope to a few poor people. I shall ask my 
dear husband to allow ten pounds of my darling Grade's 
money to be devoted to this purpose. He will consent 
and I am writing to you now partly to provide for a 
contingency that may occur, for our lives are not in 
our own hands. I may die suddenly, without warning, 
although it is my belief that I shall live till September. 
I would speak to my dear husband at once about my 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


73 

desire, but I do not wish to inflict unnecessary pain upon 
him ; it is now June, and there are three months before 
September is here. To speak to him so long before I 
believe I shall be called would fill his heart with sorrow 
and pain for three long months. 

“Dear Felicia, you will have ten pounds of 
my darling Grade's money, and perhaps, if you how 
these lines to my dear husband, he will gratify me 
by spending as little as possible upon my funeral, 
which I should like to be very simple, and will 
give you the money that is saved, to add to our 
child’s ten pounds. I want this money given to the 
poor people you know or may hear of, who are in 
want ; and then I shall feel that my death has brought 
comfort to some few poor homes. There is another 
wish I have. When you have decided how to bestow 
the money, take dear Gracie with you, and let her give 
it with her own pretty hands. Young as she is it may 
furnish her with a sweet memory ; and what task can 
there be more pleasant than to provide childhood with 
memories that may live in the mind with good effect 
in the future ? On a separate page I have written the 
names of those who appear to me most deserving — but 
you will be the best judge of that, and I trust en- 
tirely to your selection of those to whom the money 
is given. 

“That is all I have to say, dear Felicia, except to 
thank you from my heart for all the love and kindness 
you have shown for me and my darling child. That 
you will be by her side to guide and counsel her as she 
grows to womanhood is my fervent hope. Good-bye, 
my dear. 

“Your loving friend, 

‘ ‘ Alice Longmore. ” 


74 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


I examined the list of names she had prepared ; they 
were selected with great care and wisdom, and I re- 
solved that I would carry out the wishes of my sainted 
mistress to the letter. 

Whether rightly or wrongly I decided to show this 
paper at once to my master ; and I went down to him. 
Edward Ollier had been sent home to bed, and Philip 
Ollier was with his friend. Upon the table was a 
Bible, from which Philip Ollier had been reading. Ben- 
jamin Longmore ’s head was resting on his hand, and 
there was silence in the room when I entered. 

I explained the reason of my intrusion, and gave the 
paper to my master. He looked at it, but the tears 
ran down his face when he saw his wife's hand- 
writing. 

“ Read it, Phil,” he said. 

Philip Ollier read the sacred words in a hushed tone, 
his emotion causing him to pause many times during 
the perusal. 

“O, my angel wife !” sobbed Benjamin Longmore 
as his friend put down the paper. 

“ Such bereavement may be a gain, Ben,” said Philip 
Ollier solemnly. 

“ Do not say so,” cried Benjamin Longmore. “ You 
are cruel — cruel ! Forgive me, Phil ; I do not know 
what I am saying.” When he was somewhat calmer 
he turned to me. “ Her last wishes shall be obeyed, 
Miss Felicia.” 

“It is right, my dear master,” I said. 

“Yes,” said Philip Ollier, “it is right” 

I think it was about half an hour afterwards that one 
of the servants came to me, and said that a man had 
called at the house, and wished to see me. 

“Did he give his name,” I asked, “and say what 
he wanted ? ” 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


75 


“No,” replied the maid. “ He asked first for Mrs. 
Long-more, and when I told him why he could not see 
her he seemed quite staggered and overpowered. 
Then he asked to see you.” 

“ By name ? ” I inquired. 

“He asked if Mrs. Longmore’s lady friend was here, 
and he called you by your name, Miss Felicia. When 
I said you were in the house he told me to come to you 
with his message.” 

“Go and ask him what he wants,” I said. 

The maid went, and returned with an envelope upon 
which was written in pencil the name of John Macmil- 
lan. It was the man to whom my dear mistress had 
given a sovereign in the Park. 

A word upon this subject. From the day my dear 
mistress had befriended him we had not seen or heard 
from him. I had often thought of his promise that the 
sovereign should be paid back, and I confess that I was 
disappointed at his silence. My dear mistress never 
spoke of him, and I did not introduce his name into 
our conversations, keeping my thoughts to myself, 
which, I frankly own, were not complimentary to him. 

“There is no one in the dining-room ? ” I said to the 
maid. 

“No, miss.” 

“Take him there, and say I will come to him.” 

Presently I joined him there. He stood with his cap 
in his hand, and there was a look of sorrow on his 
face. He was dressed exactly as we had seen him in 
the Park, the same clothes, more worn, of course, but 
distinguished by that remarkable tidiness and cleanli- 
ness which had attracted us on the occasion of our first 
meeting with him. 

“I have come too late,” he said, in a tone of true 
sympathy. 


7 6 MERR Y, MERR V BO VS. 

I nodded, and waited for him to continue. 

“I should have been here before, but was not able 
until to-day to pay my debt, so I kept away. She is 
dead now, and thought me ungrateful.” 

“ It was not possible,” I said, “for her to harbor an 
unkind thought of any one in the world.” 

“ That I can well believe. I will not detain you 
long. It has taken me all this time to save what she 
lent to me. ” He put a sovereign on the table. ‘ ‘ I 
came to-night to pay and thank her.” 

I gently pushed the sovereign towards him, saying 
“ It is, as you said, too late,” and the moment I spoke 
the words I felt they were ill chosen. 

“Not too late to pay my debt,” he said, doggedly, 

“ but too late to thank her — to tell her that she has 
been the means of saving me and of giving me the op- 
portunity to provide food for my child. ” He pushed the 
sovereign back. “ I should have come a couple of hours 
ago, but I waited till my child was asleep.” I noticed 
then that he had a paper, containing something, in his 
hand. He opened it, and laid a few flowers on the 
table. “ I took my little girl into the country lanes to- 
day, knowing I was coming here to-night. ^he gath- 
ered these poor flowers herself, and asked me to take 
them to the angel lady, for that is how she speaks of the 
good woman who has gone to her rest. She does not 
know how true her words are. The angel lady ! ” 

“May I venture to say that she would like you to 
keep this money to help you on? The flowers you 
have brought shall be laid on her cotfln.” 

“ I should wish them to be laid there, and I am grate- * 
ful to you. I was wrong in saying that she might think 
ill of me for not coming before. She could not, and she 
does not now — for she knows and sees. Let me tell 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


77 

you what she did for me. She not only enabled me to 
get a living — and you will not be sorry to learn that 
during this past week my prospects have brightened — 
but she restored my faith. I was losing hope in God 
as I had lost hope in my fellow creatures. Her charity 
and mercy, no less than the influence of her presence, 
restored it to me, and the bitter thoughts which stirred 
me to rebellion have fled, never to return. I will take 
care, for her sake, whatever befalls, that it shall be as I 
say. Do you see the blessing that an unselfish act of 
goodness can confer upon a despairing man ! I owe 
her something infinitely more precious than a mere 
piece of gold, you will acknowledge. Would that there 
were more angels on earth resembling her ! As for 
the sovereign, I cannot take it back. Give it to the poor; 
it may lift another man up, as it has lifted me/' 

I started ; the sentiment he uttered was so truly in ac- 
cord with the spirit which animated my dear mistress. 

“Yes,” I said, putting the piece of gold in my purse. 
“It shall be bestowed as you wish. Perhaps you 
would like to know that you have been the means of 
doing good, and that some words you have spoken to 
her have blossomed into flower.” 

“/ have been the means of doing good!” he ex- 
claimed in wonder. It was due to him that he should 
be made acquainted with Mrs. Longmore’s last wishes. 
I recognized in him an exceptional man, and I felt any 
trust reposed in him would not be misplaced. He had 
met in my dear mistress an angel of mercy and sweet- 
ness, and we met in him a man of sterling worth. 

“ Remain here a moment,” I said. 

I went to the room in which the two friends were 
sitting and asked Benjamin Longmore to let me have 
his wife’s last testament, saying I would bring it back 
to him. 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


78 

“ It is yours, Miss Felicia,” he said. “ I think I could 
repeat it, word for word.” 

With the paper in my ha,nd I returned to Mr. Mac- 
millan, and bade him read it. His eyes moistened and 
his hands trembled as he perused this sacred message 
from her who was lying in death’s embrace in the 
room above. 

“It is wonderful,” he said, “wonderful and beautiful 
as a page from the Book of God. I am humbly, hum- 
bly grateful, but the goodness sprang from her heart, 
not from mine. Miss Felicia, should I ever be tempted 
to do wrong I will think of this. She spoke of her 
child,” he said, after a pause, “ a little girl of the same 
age as my Mary. She called her Grace. How is she ? ” 

“She knows nothing,” I said; “she is too young to 
realize her loss.” 

“There are inherited virtues. May she grow up as 
her mother did.” 

“Amen ! ” I said. 

I saw that he felt that his visit had reached its proper 
termination ; and yet he lingered. 

“Is there anything more you wish to say?” I asked, 
with the intention of assisting him out of his embar- 
rassment. 

“There is a favor,” he replied, “I hardly dare to 
ask ; and even if you were willing you might not be 
able to grant it.” 

“I cannot say till I know what it is.” 

“Is there in the house,” he said, timidly, “any old 
portrait of Mrs. Longmore that you could spare? 
Never mind how old and faded it is, I should regard it 
as an inestimable obligation.” 

It happened to be in my power to give him what he 
desired. In July, in accordance with a wish expressed 


A/ERR Y, A/ERR Y BO YS. 


79 

by my dear mistress, Benjamin Longmore had en- 
gaged the services of a photographer who, making his 
preparations in the garden, had taken portraits of 
Gracie and her father and of Philip and Edward Ollier, 
singly and in groups, in one of the latter in which I 
was invited to take a place. My dear mistress was 
sitting at her window, which faced the garden, watch- 
ing the operation, and Benjamin Longmore, suddenly 
looking up at her, whispered a few words to the pho- 
tographer, who looked up also, and nodded. Benja- 
min Longmore told me what was in his mind, and I 
ran indoors to his wife, and rearranged the flowers on 
the sill, so that her face, upon which the light was 
shining, might be clearly seen. I informed her of her 
husband’s wish and she smilingly consented. The re- 
sult was a most charming picture of my dear mistress, 
from which a number of copies had been struck. 

“You shall have a portrait,” I said to Mr. Macmil- 
lan, and went up to my room and got it for him. 

He gazed at it long and reverently, and wrapping it 
carefully in paper, put it into his pocket. I accom- 
panied him into the passage which led to the street 
door, and I noticed that he cast a look at the stairs. 
His wistful eyes were not to be resisted. 

“Come upstairs,” I whispered. “Tread softly. ” 

We stood in the room in which the dear angel was 
lying, and in which I had lit some candles. Her face 
was upturned ; her hands were folded on the counter- 
pane ; she looked like one who had fallen into a sweet 
sleep. Mr. Macmillan sank upon his knees and kissed 
the white covering, and just touched with his lips the 
lovely hands. Then he rose, and bowing his head to 
me, went softly downstairs, and bidding me good 
night, left the house. 


8o 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


On the day of the funeral he was in the churchyard 
with his little child, and when the coffin was lowered 
he and his daughter dropped some flowers into the 
grave. 

And so my beloved mistress was laid to rest 


CHAPTER X. 

GRANDMAMMA LONGMORE’s PECULIARITIES BECOME MORE 
MARKED. 

In recounting these, the most pathetic experiences in 
my life, I have said nothing of Grandmamma Longmore, 
for the reason that she was not with us during my dear 
mistress’s illness. She lived in the country, and being 
at that time herself unwell, her son enjoined her not to 
come to London. But two or three days after we had 
followed the last remains of the dear one to the church- 
yard, Grandmamma Longmore made her appearance, 
and took up her residence in the house. She had lived 
all alone, having lost her husband some years since, 
and it was natural and proper that she should come to 
live with the only relatives she had in the world. 

I think that Grandmamma Longmore was at first in- 
clined to rebel against the authority with which I was 
invested, for I had the entire control of the domestic 
establishment. It was certainly only an impression, 
for the rebellion, if it existed at all, was not an open 
one, but I may be pardoned for saying that my im- 
pressions are generally correct. Either way her dislike 
of my dominion did not last very long ; she found her- 
self well cared for and looked after, and her special 


MERRY, \ MERRY BOYS. 


8l 


tastes in all matters were anticipated by me. This 
being the case she probably deemed it best for her own 
convenience and comfort, to say nothing of the ease it 
brought her, to acknowledge me as the nominal mis- 
tress of the household. Indeed, after a time we be- 
came very good friends, and I was particularly careful 
not to do the least thing that might wound the old 
lady’s dignity. Grace was solely in my charge, and as 
I had received a sound education I was well fitted to 
look after hers. 

I must not omit to mention that a scrupulous account 
was kept of the small expense of my dear mistress’s 
funeral and of what it would have cost had it not been 
for her last wishes. This account was made out by 
Philip Ollier, who took upon himself all the arrange- 
ments for the funeral, and on the day after the sad 
ceremony he handed to me the sum of twenty-six 
pounds. This, with the ten pounds I received from 
Grace’s money and the sovereign Mr. Macmillan had 
paid me, made thirty-seven pounds — which enabled 
me to do a great deal of good. There is no reason 
why I should enter into the details of this expenditure. 
Suffice it to say that it was well bestowed, and that 
with a portion of it I assisted a poor and deserving 
family to emigrate to Australia. In after years I was 
surprised and gratified to receive from the head of this 
poor family various small drafts, amounting in all to 
three times the sum he had received from me, or rather 
from Grace, for it was her little hands that gave the 
money away. He had worked and prospered ; from 
the day he set foot upon Australian shores he and his 
family had never known want, and he is now a well-to- 
do man, master of his own house and land. It is a 
great pleasure to know that my dear mistress’s last 


82 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


wishes bore such good fruit, and if her example is fol- 
lowed by others this simple story will not have been 
written in vain. 

For some months after my dear mistress was taken 
from us there was much sadness in Benjamin Long- 
mores house, but gradually cheerfulness crept in and 
took firm hold, and for many years the home was very 
happy. The disquieting thoughts I had been troubled 
with because of Benjamin Longmore’s idea of the value 
of money were lulled and forgotten. It will presently 
be my duty to record how in after years they sprang 
into fierce life, and brought unhappiness in their train. 
Meanwhile, however, the tide of existence flowed 
calmly on. All Philip Ollier’s leisure time was spent in 
his friend’s house, and I scarcely remember the occasion 
when he came unaccompanied by his son Ned. The 
loss we had sustained seemed to strengthen the links 
which bound these friends together; they seemed to 
rely more and more upon each other ; and many were 
the happy evenings we enjoyed listening to their con- 
versation and to their pleasant recalling of their boyish 
reminiscences. Whenever we heard the words, “Do 
you remember, Ben ? ” or “ Do you remember, Phil?” 
our attention was immediately enlisted in what was to 
follow. Then they would speak of their boyish freaks, 
their enjoyments, their aspirations, and we would listen 
in quiet delight to the hearty voices of these friends 
who in their manhood strengthened the links which 
had bound them in their youth. 

Philip Ollier also held the position of manager in a 
city house, but his salary, I understood, was not more 
than one-third of Benjamin Longmore’s, and it was 
therefore incumbent upon him to be exceedingly care- 
ful in his expenditure in order to maintain an appear- 


MERR Y, MERR V BOYS. 


83 

ance of respectability. When I learned what his 
emoluments were I knew why he was educating his 
son himself ; he could not afford to engage a tutor for 
Ned, or put him to a good school. The education of 
children is a very serious matter with persons in the 
middle class of life. 

It is to be doubted, however, whether in any school 
or under any tutors, Ned Ollier could have been better 
taught than he was by his father. He was one of those 
lads who require but gentle directing in the path of 
knowledge, who pick up things for themselves and 
need no spurring, and when he reached manhood he 
was proficient in everything that was necessary for the 
conduct of life, either in a high or low station. With 
gentlemen who had received a college education he 
could hold his own, and he had a keen appreciation 
and understanding of the wants and requirements of 
those who moved in the lower strata. A keen sympa- 
thy, also, as events proved later on. Sometimes he re- 
minded me of Mr. Macmillan ; he had opinions, by which 
I felt he would stand in any circumstances, with a light 
regard as to whether the expression of them would 
bring him into favor or disfavor. He seldom put him- 
self forward, but there were occasions when he would 
assert himself with a thorough independence, and, as 
usual, with a thorough disregard of consequences. 
Although, as I have indicated, his sympathies were 
with the lower classes, Ned Ollier was very much of a 
gentleman, even as a lad ; he could be stately and dig- 
nified, as he was honorable and straightforward. He 
was incapable of meanness, and a blow in the face 
would have been preferable to him than to doubt his 
word. The blow he could have returned, and would, 
for he had a sturdy courage of his own, but the doubt 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


84 

would have sent the hot, indignant blood rushing to his 
face and brows, and deprived him of the power, per- 
haps the inclination, to defend himself. 

The business duties of Benjamin Longmore and Philip 
Ollier calling them from home for the greater part of the 
day, Ned would have been left very much alone had it 
not been for our house. It was the usual thing for him 
to make his appearance at about eleven o'clock, and 
remain with us till five, when he would scud home to 
meet his father, who was due from the city at six o'clock. 
Then, after dinner — if they did not dine with us, which 
they did about one day in three — they would generally 
come around again and remain with us till half-past 
nine, when they would take their departure. I often 
thought what a lonely life theirs would have been if it 
had not been for the ties which existed between them 
and Benjamin Longmore, and I was genuinely glad 
that such a house as my master’s was open to them. 
This disposition of their time afforded Ned an oppor- 
tunity of accompanying Grace and me on our weekly 
visits of charity to the poorer parts of the city, and thus 
early they became familiar with matters ofwhich the chil- 
dren of well-to-do people but very rarely have the slight- 
est knowledge. Benjamin Longmore never interfered 
with us, and never uttered a word against our proceed- 
ings. We were carrying out the wishes of the dear lady 
who had brought into his home its sweetest influences, 
and I thoroughly believe that it never entered his mind 
to dispute them, or to do anything to weaken them. 
As thoroughly do I believe that he had not the slightest 
sympathy with our movements. He had, indeed, so 
far as any action on his part could be taken as a criter- 
ion, no sympathy for the poor. His may have been 
because he did not think of them, because perhaps he 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


85 

was blind to certain signs around him. For some 
little while after my dear mistress’s death I would say 
to him : 

“Would you like to see sir, how the charity money 
is being disposed of ? ” Having papers and figures ready 
to show how his wife’s bequest was being administered. 

His answer would be, “No, Miss Felicia, I have 
other things to attend to ; I am perfectly satisfied that 
you are doing what is right.” 

Had he said that he took no interest in the matter, and 
that that was the reason why he would not examine the 
figures, it would have been more correct. But he gave 
me the money regularly, on the first of every month, in 
advance, and it would have been presumption on my 
part to have endeavored to force him to show an inter- 
est in a matter which did not in any sense appeal to 
him. 

Meanwhile, as may be imagined with two such chil- 
dren, the feelings which existed between Grace and Ned 
became firmer as time went on ; their happiest hours 
were spent in each other’s company, and I, knowing 
the wish which my dear mistress had entertained, neg- 
lected no means to cement their mutual affection. 

Our home was not entirely a serious home ; I am im- 
pelled to make this remark because I feel that I am writ- 
ing somewhat seriously — which may be because I am 
by nature rather serious, and because I am writing by 
the light of later events. We had games, we had music, 
we had a fair share of fun and gaiety. Sometimes we 
all went to the theatre together — not Grandmamma Long- 
more, she was too old — and twice a-year we went to 
the Crystal Palace. Christmas was always a happy 
time with us, although we had to be very careful of the 
simple gifts of remembrance that were exchanged 


86 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


because of Grandmamma Longmore’s growing propen- 
sity to carry off everything of small value upon which she 
could lay her hands unaware. With increasing years 
Grandmamma Longmore’s peculiarities in this respect 
became more marked, but so extraordinarily astute and 
careful was she — I don’t like to use the word “cun- 
ning,” but after all it might be the proper word — that 
we never once detected her in these pilfering act- 
ions. 

“ Grandmamma,” Grace would say, “what a pretty 
Christmas card you sent me ! ” 

“I thought it was pretty, Grace.” 

“It was the one with the doves, grandmamma, 
wasn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, Grace, with two whitedoves. Let me look at 
it again. ” 

“But, grandmamma, it is gone.” 

“Gone, child ! Nonsense ! ” 

“I put it on the mantelshelf,” said Grace, “ and left 
the room just for one little minute, and when I came 
back it was gone. Now, who could have taken it?” 

“Ah,” said Grandmamma Longmore, putting on her 
consideringcap , “who?” 

“You don’t know, do you, grandmamma ?” 

“I, child ! What an idea ! Perhaps it was the cat.” 

“O, grandmamma ! The cat ! ” 

“Why not, child? The doves looked very real, and 
cats are fond of birds.” 

It was useless to pursue the inquiry • the card was 
gone, and there was no recovering it. Grandmamma 
Longmore did not take important things, that was one 
comfort only little things ; and if we had any small arti- 
cle of special value we were very careful to keep it out 
of her clutches. 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


87 

The one party we gave every year was given a few 
days after Christmas. It was a children’s party, to strip 
the Christmas tree, and the jolly time the children had 
was something to remember. Benjamin Longmore was 
always present, of course, but he did not take an active 
part in the proceedings, the life and soul of which was 
Philip Ollier, who, on those occasions, was more boy 
than man. It was on the day following one of these 
merry gatherings that a notable incident occurred, 
which may fitly here be related, especially as some sort 
of binding engagement was entered into between 
Benjamin Longmore and Edward Ollier — though one 
was a mature man and the other a very young lad— 
with respect to Grace. 


CHAPTER XI. 

NED OLLIER MAKES A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE, AND GIVES A 
PROMISE. 

I cannot say whether what occurred was the result 
of a secret understanding between Ned and Grace; 
neither of them ever told me it was, but I had my 
own ideas on the subject. Perhaps it was some story 
they read together which led to the idea that the time 
had arrived when an open declaration of intentions 
ought to be made. 

Grace, always very sweet and pretty, looked espe- 
cially so at this year’s Christmas party, and was much 
courted by the little boys who were present. Unlike 
most very young ladies, and perhaps as many some- 
what older, Grace was not a flirt, and she did not con- 
tribute to the breaking of Ned’s heart by showing any 
special favor to the young cavaliers who thronged 


88 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


around her with a decided inclination for stolen kisses. 
The disclosure may here be made that Grace, early in 
the year of this Christmas, had exhibited poetic procliv- 
ities, and had burst forth into verse. She had received 
a valentine from Ned, which so stirred her that she went 
straightway into a corner and composed a poem to 
her sweetheart, the first verse of which ran as follows: 

“My heart did never beat before, 

As it did beat just now, 

I want you but to keep to me, 

And I’ll give my hand to thou.” 

What boy in the world could have resisted a surren- 
der so complete? 

Well, it was the day following the Christmas party, or 
rather on the evening following it, that Ned, in defiance 
of established usage, made his declaration in the pres- 
ence of all assembled in the cosy sitting-room. 

Grandmamma Longmore was dozing, or pretending to 
doze, I was busy with my needle, Grace and Ned were 
sitting in a corner, probably debating the very subject 
which was to be disclosed to us, and Benjamin Long- 
more and Philip Ollier were fighting a battle over the 
draught board. 

Suddenly Ned rose, and going close to the two gen- 
tlemen said abruptly. 

“Mr. Longmore, I want to marry Grade.” 

The friends looked up from the draught board, much 
amused and astonished, and Grandmamma Longmore, 
all at once very wide awake, and cried: 

“What! What!” 

I stopped in my work, and turned towards the group, 
with a smile on my lips. 

“Say that again, Ned,” said Benjamin Longmore. 


MERR Y t MERR Y BO YS. 


8g 


Ned, without the slightest hesitation, repeated: 

“ I want to marry Grade.” 

“This is serious, Phil,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
pushing away the board. “The game’s yours. I 
don’t know why I made that ridiculous move ; other 
things in my head. So ” — to Ned, “you want to marry 
Grade?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Ned. 

“And you, Grade?” to his daughter. 

“It is all settled, papa,” said Gracie, without a blush 
on her face. “We have been engaged ever so long.” 

“That being the case,” said Benjamin Longmore to 
Philip Ollierj “we have very little to say in the matter.” 
Philip Ollier smiled, but there was something thought- 
ful in the smile which struck me. “Marriage, Ned,” 
continued Benjamin Longmore, “is a rather serious 
affair.” 

“We know that, papa,” said Grace, who had risen 
and was now standing by Ned’s side, “and we are 
serious. ” 

“ Really and truly, Grace?” 

“Really and truly, papa.” 

“ But what are you going to marry upon, Ned ? ” asked 
Benjamin Longmore. 

Ned looked rather puzzled at this, but he brightened 
up immediately, and answered : 

“Why, upon this carpet, sir.” 

Grandmamma Longmore burst into an immoderate fit 
of laughter, declaring in the midst of it that those chil- 
dren would be the death of her, which afterwards be- 
came rather a favorite declaration when she was tickled 
by their proceedings. 

“If you have settled it between you,” said Benjamin 
Longmore, “ why do you ask for my consent? ” 


MERRY \ MERRY BOYS. 


9 0 

Ned considered a moment, and then replied: “No 
gentleman would marry another gentleman’s daughter 
without asking the other gentleman s consent. 

This sent Grandmamma Longmore into another fit of 
laughter, recovering from which she observed, 

“A very proper remark, Miss Felicia, really a very 
proper remark. That boy has sense beyond his years. 

“What do you say, Phil?” asked Benjamin Long- 
more. 

“What do you say, Ben?” asked Philip Ollier, treat- 
ing the matter lightly, as of course, we all did, but still 
with the thoughtful manner which had struck me at first. 

This thoughtfulness seemed to attract Benjamin Long- 
more’s observation. 

“No gentleman,” he said, repeating Ned’s words, 
“would marry another gentleman’s daughter without 
the other gentleman’s consent.” 

“Certainly not, sir,” said Ned. 

“Is that your opinion too, Grace?” 

“O, yes, papa. I say whatever Ned says.” 

“The question is,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
“whether Ned, when he is a man, will hold to that 
opinion. Because, although you might be married now 
as boy and girl, you would have to be married all over 
again as man and woman.” 

“Should we, papa?” 

“Undoubtedly, Grace. I have no objection to this 
preliminary marriage if you and Ned will hold to what 
you say.” 

“We will hold to it, sir,” said Ned, adding rather 
loftily, “ I never go back from my word.” 

“What do you say to that, Grace?” 

“I agree with Ned,” said Grace, comprehensively, 
“in everything.” 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


9 1 

“ So be it,” said Benjamin Longmore. “We agree. 
Eh, Phil?” 

“Yes, Ben.” 

Upon that the children went back to their corner, 
with a settled conviction that they had just gone 
through a very solemn ceremony. 

The next day Grace went to her money box and 
emptied it. Benjamin Longmore gave his daughter 
sixpence a-week, about half of which she spent upon 
herself and her innocent fancies, such as buying birth- 
day cards and birthday gifts of her own choosing for 
her father and grandmamma Longmore and I ; the 
other half was allowed to accumulate in her box. 

“ Help me to count it, Miss Felicia.” 

The little piles of copper and silver amounted to nine- 
teen shillings. 

“ That will be enough to commence with, Miss 
Felicia, won’t it? ” she asked. 

“To commence what with, Grace?” 

“ Housekeeping,” she replied, quite gravely. “ I 
must invite Ned to dinner, and I must get a cooking 
stove.” 

So we went out, and with her nineteen shillings pur- 
chased a child’s cooking stove and a cookery book to 
match, with which Grace began her lessons in house- 
keeping. The meals which, with my assistance, she 
prepared, were not very substantial, but they were en- 
joyed as children enjoy such things, and the time was 
not thrown away. It gave her, at all events, a taste 
for such matters, which was likely to be profitable in 
the future ; in addition to which it was fair amusement 
for the days of childhood. 

There is no need for me to dwell longer upon these 
early years in the lives of Grace and Ned. The prom- 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


9 2 

ise of beauty in our dear girl was fulfilled. She grew 
straight and lovely as a lily — a fitting simile, for her 
soul, as well as her body, was the emblem of purity. 
In the best sense of the word, Grace was becoming a 
lady, as Ned was becoming a gentleman — lady and 
gentleman, I mean, in true feeling, not in fine ladies 
and gentlemens ways. In all respects they were 
showing themselves to be what I, their dear and true 
friend, would have had them to be, such as, if they 
were my own children, I would have had them to be. 
I pass, therefore, over the intervening years until Ned 
was twenty-one and Grace nearly seventeen years of 
age. Philip Ollier had found a situation for his son in 
a mercantile office, not a very lucrative situation, nor 
one which offered much promise for the future. Ned’s 
salary was a hundred a-year, and upon that and what 
his father earned they rubbed along pretty comfortably, 
The children’s liking for each other was developing 
into a stronger feeling. I, who watched them with 
wisdom and affection, saw that clearly. They loved 
each other, but Ned had not spoken, and if he had 
seriously reviewed his'position with any idea of matri- 
mony he must have known that he could not offer to 
Grace such a home as he would have wished her to 
occupy. 


MERRY, MERRY ROYS. 


9 $ 


CHAPTER XII. 

IT WAS YOUR MOTHERS FONDEST WISH. 

How did the trouble commence ? In what way did the 
beautiful link between friend and friend begin to grow 
weaker ? Instead of indulging in speculation it will be 
best to narrate actual facts and occurrences. 

The firm in which Philip Ollier was employed fell 
into difficulties. It was spoken of one night when we 
were all together. 

“Things are going badly at the office/' said Philip 
Ollier. 

“ In what way ! ” asked Benjamin Longmore, not 
with the interest he would have exhibited of old, but in 
a lukewarm manner. 

Philip Ollier, however, did not appear to notice this. 

“Business has been falling off for some time,” he 
replied. “There is a talk of retrenchment. Two clerks 
who have been with us twenty years have received 
notice.” 

Benjamin Longmore nodded carelessly, and remarked: 
“Changes must come, of course.” 

“It seems hard, Ben.” 

“I don’t know so much about that. Some must go 
to the wall.” Then, as if a deeper show of interest was 
expected of him he asked, “ Have you any idea of the 
cause of the trouble ? ” 

“The young members of the firm have been spec- 
ulating rashly outside their business.” 


94 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


“ O,” said Benjamin Longmore, “speculating. But 
how are people to make money if they don’t speculate/' 

“ There is the steady road, Ben ; it is the easiest and 
pleasantest. ” 

‘‘That is one view. The easiest and pleasantest 
thing is to make money/' 

“Do you mean to make money anyhow ?” 

“No, I don’t mean anyhow,” said Benjamin Long- 
more’, with irritation. “I mean by shrewdness, by 
watching the markets, by taking advantage of oppor- 
tunities.” 

Philip Ollier did not pursue the subject ; he felt, as I 
did, the lack of sympathy in his old friend. 

These few words strengthened if it did not confirm 
an impression which had forced itself upon me that 
Benjamin Longmore was stepping out of his regular 
groove. In which direction, I did not then know, but 
I had a suspicion that it was in the direction of specula- 
tion for the purpose of striving to make money. 

On another occasion Philip Ollier said sadly : 

“The fears I have entertained have become a cer- 
tainty. Our firm is breaking up. There is a talk of the 
creditors being called together. Some of our bills have 
been returned.” 

“What do you intend to do?” asked Benjamin 
Longmore. 

“Heaven knows. If the worst happens I shall be 
thrown on my beam ends. I don’t exactly see what I 
am fitted for after so long a service. A bad feature in 
the affair is that I have not been able to save any- 
thing.” 

“ Nothing ? ” 

“Not a shilling. I owe nothing, that is one comfort. 
I am greatly worried about Ned. I hoped to be able 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


95 

to do something for him. I am afraid now he will have 
to depend entirely upon himself. ” 

‘‘Well, we had to do the same.” 

‘ ‘ Times are changed, said Philip Ollier sadly. ‘ ‘ Once 
there was a fair likelihood of a man obtaining a situa- 
tion if he was fitted for it. Now there are a hundred 
applicants ready to rush into any chance opening. If 
I were a younger man I should emigrate.” 

“You might do worse even now,” said Benjamin 
Longmore. 

Not so would he have spoken in bygone years at 
the prospect of a separation with his friend ; he would 
have been ready to offer sympathy and counsel, to 
suggest this and that. 

“ Yes,” said Philip Ollier, thoughtfully, “I might do 
worse even now. I have my health and strength, 
thank God, but the breaking of old ties is a wrench. The 
castles ^we built when we were boys were air-built 
castles in very truth.” 

“I have not said farewell to mine,” observed Ben- 
jamin Longmore. 

“Why, do you cling to them still ? ” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ I envy you ; mine have faded long ago. Do you 
remember ‘Mon Repos/ Ben?” 

“ I never forget it. I made up my mind to be its 
master one day, and one day I shall be. 

Philip Ollier stared at his old friend, and said, “You 
were always tenacious. I remember at school how 
you stuck to any opinion you expressed, whether you 
were right or wrong.” 

“The mastiff quality,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
“yes, I am not ashamed of it I wasn't cut out for a 
weathercock. Before I die I shall realize all my wishes ; 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


96 

and as for dying, I have a good many years before me 
yet. I am still a young man, only forty-two; I have 
the advantage of you by two years.” 

“You have the advantage of me in every way,” 
said Philip Ollier, somewhat sadly; “you have more 
spirit, more pluck, more determination. However,” 
and his voice grew more cheerful, “it will never do to 
despond. I have plenty to be thankful for. There’s 
Ned, as fine and honorable a lad as you w T ould meet 
within a day’s march. Is it nothing to have a son like 
him ? Is it nothing to know that you have such a 
brave, true heart to depend upon ? We are going to 
have some fine times in the future ; the sun hasn’t done 
shining yet.” 

‘ ‘ Of course it hasn’t, ” said Benjamin Longmore. ‘ * It 
all rests with ourselves. If you walk about with a 
despondent face, if you tell your friends that times are 
hard with you, all that they will say is, * O, he’s going 
to the dogs.’ Just the same if you’re not feeling well, 
and if every time you’re asked how you are you answer, 
‘I feel very bad,’ all your friends will say, ‘It’s quite 
plain what is the matter with him ; he’s breaking up.’ 
Never cry ‘Wolf,’ Phil.” 

There were present at this conversation only the two 
friends and myself, and I was quite glad to hear Ben- 
jamin Longmore say “Phil.” Philip Ollier had ad- 
dressed his friend a good many times by the old 
familiar name “Ben,” and it had jarred upon me that my 
master seemed to purposely avoid a reciprocal cordial- 
ity. It cheered Philip Ollier up, too. 

“That is sound philosophy, Ben,” he said, “but I 
don’t think I give way before anybody but you — and 
our good friend, Miss Felicia,” he added with a smile. 
“I know something of the world, though I’ve not 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


97 


studied it as deeply as you have done. Thank you for 
your advice, old fellow ; IT1 profit by it, and nobody 
shall see me with anything but a cheerful face. By the 
way, Ben, you give me an impression that things are 
brightening with you.” 

“Do I?” asked Benjamin Longmore, and there was 
something secretive in his tone and manner. 

“Yes, and I sincerely hope that my impression is 
correct.” 

“Well,” said Benjamin Longmore, and I now detected 
a kind of boastfulness in his voice, “ I am not going to 
the bad, at all events. ” 

“Which means that you are on the other road,” said 
Philip Ollier. 

“Well, yes, if you like.” 

“ I heartily congratulate you. I shall live to see you 
ride in your carriage.” 

“Of that,” said Benjamin Longmore, “I haven’t 
very much doubt” 

At this point Grace and Ned entered the room, and 
the conversation came to an end. Their faces shone 
with a new tenderness, and a glad hope animated me. 
It had been inexpressibly painful to me to observe the 
weakening of the sweet tie of friendship between the 
fathers of these young people. In my judgment of the 
affairs of life it did not need that I should be told such 
and such a thing in so many words ; I judged gener- 
ally by signs, and the signs that were presented and 
were visible to me in the intercourse of the two 
old friends foretold a break between them. One of 
the most conspicuous of these si£ns was the dropping 
of the song they so often used to sing, “When we were 
boys together.” For quite twelve months past it had 
not been started by either of them, and I missed it 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


98 

sadly. I do not know if the other members and friends 
of the household missed it as I did, and whether they 
drew the same conclusions as myself. Grandmamma 
Longmore thought of little else than herself and the 
passing hour, and the unexpressed love which existed 
between Grace and Ned prevented them from seeing 
what I saw ; for love, as well as old age, is in its way 
selfish and all-absorbing. If I were right in my fore- 
boding of an impending break in the long friendship of 
Benjamin Longmore and Philip Ollier, how would it be 
with Grace and Ned ? My reflections in that direction 
did not add to my cheerfulness, and I could not imagine 
any sadder occurrence than the separation of these two 
young people because of the separation of their parents, 
to whom they owed both love and duty. But now, as 
they came into the room my face, my heart grew 
brighter. Something had passed between them. What? 
That it was something sweet and good, something that 
gladdened them as it gladdened me, was certain ; and 
I burned to learn the truth. It was disclosed to me 
before I went to bed. 

Grace and I occupied adjoining bedrooms, between 
which there was a communicating door, and it was 
our habit to converse for half an hour or so before we 
bade each other good-night. It was a favorite occupa- 
tion of mine during this half hour to do Grace’s hair, 
which was very long and beautiful, and she allowed me 
to so employ myself because she knew it afforded me 
pleasure. So on this night I brushed the brown tresses, 
and peeping over Grace’s shoulder saw her smiling 
happily to herself. I bent forward and kissed her, and 
said : 

“ Have you anything to tell me, Grade?” 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


99 

She blushed as she answered ; “ Yes, but I don’t know 
how to commence.” 

“ Wait a moment, darling.” 

I finished my task, and drawing a chair close to the 
lovely girl, I said : 

“ Well, Grade?” 

What did she do but clasp me round the neck and 
hide her face on my shoulder ? 

“Is it about Ned, darling? ” 

“Yes.” 

The whisper of a rose could scarcely have been 
softer and sweeter. 

“ Has he spoken, darling ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Now,” I said, with a tender caress, “ tell me what 
he said, and how it came about.” 

“That is the hardest part, dear Miss Felicia,” Grace 
whispered. “I don’t know, and I don’t think Ned could 
tell you. It was all so sudden, and it was through an 
other person, not through ourselves. We met Mrs. 
Anderson, or rather Mrs. Anderson met us for we did 
not see her till she came up to us.” 

“Yes, Grade.” 

I may mention here that the Mrs. Anderson she re- 
ferred to was a poor woman whom we had befriended. 
She was a young woman but twelve months married 
when we first came across her. Her husband had met 
with an accident, and was in the hospital, and she had 
been left penniless, with a young baby to care for. By 
our help she managed to tide over evil times, and when 
her husband was well enough to leave the hospital we 
had been fortunate enough to obtain a situation for him. 
They had had a hard struggle, but had battled bravely 
on, and now they were about to emigrate, a friend in 


100 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


New Zealand having sent them, in answer to an appeal 
they had made to him, a sum sufficient to pay their pas- 
sage across. It was this good news that the grateful 
woman, seeing Grace, hastened to communicate to her. 

“She spoke so beautifully,” Grace said, “ and hoped 
you would come and see her. Their ship sails to-mor- 
row week. She had the letter in her pocket, and she 
read part of it to me. Their friend in Australia is in a 
good way of business, and they are going out to a sit- 
uation in his store. He is a single gentleman, and he 
offers Mr. Anderson two pounds a-week, and fifteen 
shillings a-week to Mrs. Anderson if she will do the 
cooking. Of course she is going to do it, and their 
friend says in his letter that in three or four years they 
will be able to save money enough to set up business 
for themselves if they wish to leave him then. She de- 
clares, dear Miss Felicia, that if it hadn’t been for us 
this good fortune would never have happened to them, 
for it was you who advised and persuaded her to write 
to their friend. She is so grateful, and she cried as she 
told us all about it. And then she said, looking at me 
and Ned, that she hoped we would be as happy as we 
had made her. That was the commencement of it, and 
when she went away, sending her blessing to you, dear 
Miss Felicia, I was crying, too, because of the beauti- 
ful way she spoke. I cannot tell you exactly what 
happened after that. Ned and I were very quiet for a 
little while, and then Ned said something, and I an- 
swered him, and he told me he loved me, and — O, my 
dear second mother, how shall I say it — I told him that 
I loved him. Was it wrong? Tell me, tell me, dear 
Miss Felicia.” 

“You spoke out of your heart, darling,” I said, wip- 
ing my eyes, “and you did what was right. It was 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


IOI 


your mother’s fondest wish that you and Ned should be 
to each other what you have promised to be. ” 

“Was it, dear Miss Felicia, was it! 0, how happy 
Ned will be to hear it ! My darling mother told you so, 
though I was so young when she was taken from us ? 
What a happiness, what a happiness that her wish — and 
ours, dear Miss Felicia, our dearest, our only wish — 
should be fulfilled 1 ” 

Then, searching my memory, I recalled all that had 
been said by my dear mistress about Grace and Ned, 
and the happy girl listened with folded hands and a 
rapt expression on her lovely face. 

“She had the highest opinion of Ned, dear Grace. 
The last time he saw her, when she bade him farewell, 
knowing she had not long to live— hush, my darling, 
hush ! it was God’s will, and your honored mother was 
resigned — she said to him that he and you were in the 
playtime of life, and that bye and bye be would be a 
man and you a woman ; and that it was then she 
wanted him to be true to you. He answered that he 
would never be anything else.” 

“ He has been, he will be, dear Miss Felicia.” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“ My dear, good mother ! ” 

“ She had a great wish, Gracie, to dream of your fu- 
ture, and she used to go to sleep praying that she 
might see it in her dreams. Before she bade farewell 
to your Ned ” 

“Yes, dear Miss Felicia, to my Ned. My Ned ! ” 

“Her wish was gratified. Waking from a sleep she 
told me that she saw you a bright and beautiful woman, 
and that Ned was with you. ‘It will be, dear Felicia,’ 
she said to me ; ‘it is a message from heaven ! ' And 


! 02 MERR Y, MERR Y BO YS. 

now, at this moment, dear child, she sees you, and re- 
joices.” 

Grace sank to her knees, and I did not disturb her, 
but looked down upon her beautiful form, my heart 
throbbing with gratitude. Presently she rose and nes- 
tled close to me. 

“Ned is going to speak to papa to-morrow,” she 
said. 

My mind was troubled a little as I said, “It is proper 
that he should do so, dear. ” 

“What worries Ned,” she continued, “is his posi- 
tion. He is not earning much, but we can wait.” 

“ Yes, dear, you are both young. You can wait for 
two or three years till Ned is in a better position.” 

“ Do you know what he said, Miss Felicia, after it — 
was — all — settled ? ” The prettiest blush accompanied 
these words as they dropped slowly from her lips. 
“That he was afraid he h'ad done wrong in speakingto 
me so soon, and that if he had thought properly of it he 
would have held his tongue. I had to chide him for 
that, and I told him — I hope it was not bold — that he 
should think of me as well as of himself. He said he 
was always thinking of me, and that it was for my 
sake he ought to have left it till next year, or the year 
after, when he saw his way to' provide a home for us. 
You will be with us, will you not, Miss Felicia !” 

“If you wish it, dear.” 

“I do wish it, and so does Ned. And then he cor- 
rected himself, and said he was glad, after all, that he 
had spoken when he did, because somebody else 
might have stepped in, and he would be too late. As 
if anybody could ! As if I would have listened to any 
one else ! ” 

And so the dear child went on till I told her it was 


MERR Y, A/ERR Y BO YS. 


103 


time for her to get to bed. She obeyed me, but begged 
me not to leave her till she was quite tired out. I sat 
by her bedside, and we talked a little longer, and then 
she fell asleep with a smile on her lips. 

Kissing her softly, I retired to my room, and began 
to think. 

Sometimes during my musings I buoyed myself up 
with the thought that all would end right, and that this 
new bond between the children would restore the old 
harmonious bond between their parents. Then I was 
worried by the remembrance of Benjamin Longmore’s 
coldness towards Philip Ollier, by his lack of sympathy 
in his friend’s approaching trials, by his selfish engross- 
ment of his own schemes and desires. I was tossed 
this way and that, now seeing nothing but light, now 
seeing nothing but darkness. I debated how Benjamin 
Longmore would receive the declaration which Ned 
was to make on the morrow, and al one moment I was 
joyful, the next despondent. I took myself to task. 

“ You are very proud of your powers of observa- 
tion, Felicia,” I said, “ you think yourself very clever 
in getting at the heart of things without anything being 
said. You have an intuition, truly, a fine intuition 
which makes you look on the gloomy side. How do 
you know what is passing in the mind of your master, 
who was a good husband to his wife, who is a good 
father to his child? Hope for the best, Felicia, hope 
for the best.” 

I stole into Gracie’s room ; she had not stirred, and 
the happy smile was still on her lips. So I crept into 
bed, and fell asleep, too, hoping for the best 


104 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

POOR NED. 

It happened on the next morning that my master, of his 
own free will, afforded me an insight of what was pass- 
ing in his mind. He called me to his study, in which 
he was in the habit of writing his private letters, and 
locked the door. 

“ I wish to speak to you/’ he commenced, “upon a 
particular subject.” 

-I held my breath. Was it about Grace and Ned? 
He continued: 

“You will please to keep to yourself what passes 
between us. I must exact that promise from you.” 

“It is given, sir,” I said. 

“You will not divulge it to any friend of mine, not 
even to my daughter.” 

“ I promise you, sir.” 

“ I am satisfied with your word. From my long 
experience of you I know you are to be thoroughly 
trusted. The subject, Miss Felicia, is money.” 

“You are in no difficulty, I hope sir.” 

“ Not at all. It is the other way. It is not the losing 
of money, but the making of it, I am about to speak of. 
You are good at figures ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

It was indeed one of my few special gifts ; I was 
something more than a good arithmetician, I was a 
clever one. 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


I0 5 


“What I shall impart to you,” he said, “ will come 
as a revelation. I need a secretary to make up certain 
accounts from time to time, under my direction, and to 
verify such accounts as I shall myself make out, in 
order to prevent mistakes. I wish you to undertake 
this duty/' 

“I am entirely at your service, sir.” 

“ This new duty may render it necessary that another 
female should be engaged in the house who will look 
after matters to which you have hitherto given your 
attention — household matters, I mean. You can en- 
gage such a person.” 

“ I must not be taken from Grace, sir.” 

“There will be no need for that; you will continue 
to be to her what you have always been, a wise friend 
and companion. Miss Felicia, you will be surprised 
to hear that I am bent upon becoming a rich man, and 
that I set the greatest possible value upon — Money.” 

I make a break before his present utterance of the 
word because he did so himself, and I put a capital M 
to it because he spoke it with emphasis. 

I was not at all surprised at the revelation ; any sur- 
prise I may have felt was caused by his ignorance of 
my knowledge of him. He had entirely ignored my 
intuitive powers and my faculty of observation. 

“Yes, Miss Felicia, upon money. During the last 
twelve months certain opportunities of speculation 
have been presented to me, and I have in a small way 
taken advantage of them. Before very long I hope to 
take advantage of these opportunities in a larger way. 
Of course you are ignorant of these matters, and there- 
fore I do not seek your advice concerning them ; all I 
seek is your assistance in the manipulation of figures, 
under my direction. You are willing?” 


1 06 MERE Y, MERE Y BOYS. 

He was my master ; he could command my services 
but not for those reasons alone did I immediately reply 
that I was willing. There was a wish in my mind to 
become acquainted with his movements in the direc- 
tion he directed, and a latent hope that my knowledge 
of them might be turned to favorable advantage for those 
I best loved. 

“To speak plainly,” he said, “I am engaged in 
speculation in stocks and shares, and I want certain 
tables prepared from week to week which will be a 
guide to me in my operations.” 

He then set before me a number of cuttings from 
newspapers, all referring to fluctuations in the stock 
and share markets, and he further explained to me that 
one part of my new duties was to make similar cuttings 
from newspapers which he had ordered to be sent to 
the house, and to paste and arrange them in a book 
side by side, for the purposes of study and comparison. 

I soon understood his directions, and was satisfied that 
I could properly carry them out I was satisfied of 
another thing as well — that he had already made 
money, and that his desire to become the master of the 
grand house and estate know as “Mon Repos” was 
not such a wild idea as I had hitherto supposed it to 
be, given, of course, that it was ever thrown into the 
market. 

Matters being thus far advanced in our interview he 
was about to dismiss me when we heard a knock at the 
door. He opened it, and a servant said that Mr. 
Edward Ollier had asked to see him. 

“I will leave you now, sir,” I said, with a prayer in 
my heart that Ned’s errand might have a successful 
issue. 

“No,” said Benjamin Longmore, “remain.” 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


107 


If I had thought that expostulation would have 
availed me I should have said that he had better see 
Ned alone, but there was that in my master’s tone 
which compelled obedience. So I remained, unwill- 
ingly. 

“Can I speak to you alone, Mr. Longmore ? ” said 
Ned, upon his entrance. 

“You can say what you have to say before Miss 
Felicia/’ was Benjamin Longmore’s reply to this request. 

“I should like to say it privately, sir,” urged poor 
Ned. 

“I have nothing private from Miss Felicia,” said 
Benjamin Longmore. 

My heart fell ; it was not in this way he used to 
speak to Ned. It used to be “Ned, my boy,” or 
“Well, Ned?” or some hearty prompting of that kind, 
but now there was no cordiality in voice or manner. 

“ It is about Grace, sir,” said Ned, feeling the cold- 
ness as I felt it. 

“O, about Grace,” said Benjamin Longmore. “Be 
seated, Miss Felicia. Well?” 

He did not even ask Ned to take a chair. 

“I told her last night, ’’said Ned, “ that I would come 
and speak to you.” 

How I pitied the young fellow. At the best, it was 
a nervous errand upon which he had come, but Ben- 
jamin Longmore’s reception of him made his task a 
hundred times more difficult. 

“Yes,” said Benjamin Longmore, with displeasure 
in his eyes, “you told her last night that you were 
coming to speak to me. What did my daughter say 
to that? ” 

“That it would be right for me to do so.” 

“Go on,” said Benjamin Longmore coldly. 


io8 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


The young fellow drew a long breath, straightened 
himself, and spoke now manfully as well as modestly. 

“We love each other, sir.” 

Benjamin Longmore had turned his face from us, and 
I saw him playing with a paper knife that lay on the 
table. 

“Do I understand,” he asked, without looking at 
Ned, “that you have been making love to my daughter 
behind my back? ” 

“Not behind your back, sir,” replied Ned with a 
dignity for which I admired him. “We have been 
together since childhood.” 

“ Yes, it was very unwise on my part. But you have 
not replied to my question.” 

“You have seen everything, sir, except that last 
night I allowed my feelings to get the better of me, and 
spoke when perhaps I should not have spoken.” 

“ That is properly said. You should not have spoken. 
Your declaration should first have been made to me.” 

“I admit it, sir, and I have no excuse to offer, only 
that my feelings overcame me. I love Grace dearly, 
and she loves me.” 

“ A child’s fancy.” 

“ No, sir, indeed. Grace is no longer a child.” 

“She has but just passed her seventeenth year,” 
said Benjamin Longmore, “and is, I repeat, a child — 
even more of a child than most girls of her age, for she 
has seen absolutely nothing of the world.” 

I could have interposed here, and said that Grace 
knew more, not less, of the world than most young 
ladies of her age. Her visits in my company to 
administer her mother’s legacy to the wretched and 
suffering had opened her eyes to the true issues of life, 
and she had often surprised me by the depth and good * 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


log 

sense of her remarks. But I held my tongue ; I could 
best serve her and Ned — and I determined to serve 
them to the uttermost of my power, even in the teeth 
of an obdurate father — by saying nothing to displease 
him. In this resolve I was aware that I was practising 
a certain duplicity, but I believed myself justified by the 
issue at stake, the happiness of my dear Grace. 

“It would be taking advantage of her inexperience,” 
continued Benjamin Longmore, “ to bind her to a rash 
promise of which she might repent hereafter. You 
must see that yourself.” 

“Ido not think, sir,” said Ned, “that her promise 
was a rash one, and I am the last man in the world to 
hold her to it if she wished to be released.” 

“ I do not question your sincerity or good intentions, 
but I am speaking from one standpoint, you from 
another, and I know what is best for my child. Come, 
come,” he said, with an assumption of good humor, 
“give up this idle fancy. You are not in a position to 
provide for a home, and your father is notin a position 
to assist you. And if this were not as I say, Grace is 
too young to marry.” 

“ My fancy is not an idle one, sir,” said Ned respect- 
fully and firmly ; “ my love for Grace is rooted in my 
heart, and I have every hope and belief that it is the 
same with her. You are quite right in saying that I 
am not in a position to marry, and that Grace is too 
young. But in a few years, say three, things will be 
different. I shall work hard to make a position, and I 
shall succeed — yes, sir, I shall succeed. Grace and I 
are both content to wait. Will that content you, Mr. 
Longmore ? ” 

“No,” said Benjamin Longmore, and so dark a cloud 
stole into his face that I saw it would go ill with poor 


I IO 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


Ned, “it does not content me. I will not have my 
child absolutely bound for three of the brightest years 
of her life. There must be an end to the foolish affair, 
here and now. I have the right, as her father, to 
demand this of you.” 

“Pardon me, sir; the right rests with Grace and me. 
I cannot consent unless Grace bids me do so, to forego 
the one hope of my life. I implore you to think more 
favorably of me. You and my father have always 
been such good friends — he has the sincerest love for 
you ; as I have — and you have always been so good 
and kind to me, that your refusal comes with a shock 
upon me. I am not rich, but I am a gentleman ; my 
dear father made me one, and it is through his teach- 
ing that I know what is right, through his teaching 
that I shall be able to conduct myself with honor. 
Tell me, sir. Were I rich instead of poor would you 
receive my proposal in a different way. If I were 
ableto provide a fitting home for you and Grace, would 
you ” 

“ Stop,” interrupted Benjamin Longmore, “Ido not 
admit your right to question me. You have heard 
what I have said, and if you act in opposition to my 
wishes ” — he paused ; even in his angry mood he hesi- 
tated a moment before he flung the bitter, bitter arrow 
— “if you act in opposition to my wishes, Edward 
Ollier, I shall be compelled to forbid you my house.” 

Ned quivered, as though an arrow had indeed been 
implanted in his breast. 

“There is no need to do that, sir,” he said, sadly, 
“ and I hope you will not, for my father’s sake. It 
would be like breaking his life off in the middle.” 

There was not much in the words to powerfully im- 
press a man in Benjamin Longmore s present temper, 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


I 


but nevertheless they must have struck some chord 
within him to cause him to say, in a more conciliatory 
tone: 

“Come, we will make a bargain. Let things remain 
as they were, not as they are, for three years, and dur- 
ing that period engage yourself not to make love to 
Grace. She will have time to become better acquainted 
with the world, to know her own heart better ; to 
see other men, to mix, perhaps, a little in society ; and 
you will have time to work and advance yourself. 
When the three years have expired come to me again, 
and renew your proposal, if you are in the same mind, 
and I shall then be able to judge whether your circum- 
stances are such as to warrant an engagement between 
you. I am not in favor of long engagements, and that 
is one reason why I will not allow the one into which 
you and Grace have entered without my consent to 
remain in force during so unreasonable a time. You 
acknowledge yourself that you have no expectation of * 
being able to marry till Grace is twenty years of age, 
and the test I propose will serve not only the pur- 
poses I have named, but another of which I must con- 
vince myself ; it will prove, or disprove, your con- 
stancy. ” 

Ned caught eagerly at the hope which this proposal 
contained ; it was a long way from the best he could 
hope for, but it was also not the worst he had dreaded 
within a few moment after he entered the room. Sure 
of his own heart, sure of Grace’s, he said : 

“If Grace is willing, sir, I am.” 

“Then there is an end of the matter for the present,” 
said Benjamin Longmore, holding out his hand, not 
very graciously, I own, but still there it was for Ned to 
take, and of course he seized it cordially. “I will 


12 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


speak to Grace myself, and you shall hear the result 
from her lips or mine. I remember some words you 
spoke when you and Grace were little children. You 
asked for my consent to marry her — I dare say you 
have not forgotten it.” 

“Indeed I have not, sir.” 

“Well, the words were — wait a moment” — he paused 
searching his mind — “yes, I have them, I think. You 
said that no gentleman would marry another gentle- 
man’s daughter without the other gentleman’s consent. 
Miss Felicia was present ; she will tell me whether I 
am right.” 

“That is what Mr. Ned said,” I said. 

I did not speak with any show of cordiality ; I don’t 
know why, but I distrusted my master, and seemed to 
detect a false ring in his voice. Ned did not share my 
distrust ; he was in a state of glowing excitement 
because of this changing of a foul wind into fair. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, “ they were my very words.” 

“I answered, I remember,” continued Benjamin 
Longmore, “that the question was whether when you 
were a man you would hold to that, and you replied 
that you would not go back from your word. Give 
me now your assurance that you will not marry Grace 
without my consent, and prove yourself a man of 
honor.” 

“I give you the assurance, sir,” said poor Ned. 

“ I accept it in spirit and letter. Now there is noth- 
ing more to be said at present. In three years we will 
have another chat upon this subject. Meanwhile, get 
rich.” 

“That shall be my endeavor, sir.” 

And away Ned went, after shaking hands with Benj?- 
min Longmore and me, hesitating just a moment with 


A/ERR Y, MERR Y BOYS. 


”3 


a longing in his mind to see our dear Grace ; but it was 
a longing to which he dared not give expression. He 
was not yet her accepted lover. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PHILIP OLLIER BIDS US FAREWELL. 

Benjamin Longmore proved himself to be a good 
judge of character in the confidence he reposed in me 
and Ned. He was satisfied that, our word once given, 
it would not be broken. 

“ Do you know, Miss Felicia, ” he said, “ that Edward 
Ollier’s proposal gave me a shock. I have not realized 
till now that Grace will soon be a woman. Hitherto I 
have regarded her as a mere child, but now my eyes 
are opened I must look more carefully after her. ” 

“ Have you observed, sir,” I asked with direct in- 
tention, “how like her dear mother she has grown ?” 

“There is, I know, a close resemblance, Miss 
Felicia,” he said, his voice softening; but his newer, 
and worse, nature asserted itself almost immediately. 
“ Do not speak to Grace about this proposal, Miss 
Felicia.” 

“But she must be told, sir.” 

“She shall be, by me. Indeed, I will see her before 
I leave the house.” 

“If she asks me, sir, whether I was present when 
the proposal was made I must answer truthfully.” 

“Certainly you must, but you need not be too com- 
municative. Do not excite her ; counsel her to be guided 
entirely by me. I have a great respect for you, Miss 

8 


1 14 


MERRY . ; MERRY BOYS. 


Felicia, but in such matters as this my authority must 
not be disputed or weakened.” 

I bowed, and went to Grace and sent her down to her 
father, waiting anxiously in my room for the result of 
the interview. I was prepared for tears, for despondency, 
or hints at rebellion, but I am thankful to say I was mis- 
taken. My mistake arose from my allowing myself to 
be influenced by my fears and my affection instead of 
by my reason. I ought to have known dear Grace 
better. Instead of rejoining me with a melancholy face 
she came in radiant. 

“ It’s all right, Miss Felicia,” she said ; “we are to 
wait three years. That is just what we expected. 
Papa was very kind, although he did not speak quite 
so enthusiastically about Ned as he ought to have done ; 
but I can’t expect him to look at Ned with my eyes, 
can I ? ” 

“No, dear. Has your father, then, consented to an 
engagement ? ” 

“Well, not exactly an engagement ; he wasn’t quite 
• clear in what he said. I think he was bothered a little 
because I spoke so plainly — yes, I did, Miss Felicia. 

I told him I loved Ned and Ned only, and that I should 
never love anyone else, in that way, you know, and 
that in a hundred years from now it would be just the 
same with me. I think, too, he is bothered about busi- 
ness, poor dear. Men do have a lot of worries, don’t 
they, Miss Felicia? Then he looks upon me as if I 
was still a little child, and actually asked me how it 
was possible for me to know my own mind. I am not 
sure that I convinced him that I did know it, but I spoke 
very freely about Ned and myself, and I asked him if 
Ned wasn’t the brightest, the handsomest, the manliest 
gentleman he had ever known. There again he was 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS, 


115 

not as enthusiastic as he ought to have been, and I told 
him so. Papa sent for me to speak to me, but I think, 
dear Miss Felicia,” she said with a sweet laugh, “that 
it was I who spoke to him.” 

That was evident. I had feared that she would en- 
ter her father's presence with timidity and doubt, but 
instead of that she had met him with full confidence in 
him, in herself, and in the right and justice of her cause. 
Never have I seen in my dear Grace the least sign of 
boldness, but she has no false modesty, and can stand 
firm as a rock when she believes herself to be right. 

“But you have not told me,” I said, “about the 
engagement.” 

“ Haven’t I ? I am a little excited, you know. Well, 
papa said he would prefer there should be no absolute 
engagement between us, but I answered that I had told 
Ned I loved him — which I do, which I do, dear Miss 
Felicia, with all my heart and soul — and that nothing 
could alter that. Then he said that Ned had promised 
to wait three years, and I said that I promised, too. 

‘ In the meantime/ papa said, ‘ there is to be no engage- 
ment/ ‘But there is one, papa/ I answered. ‘Ned 
has told me he loves me, and I have told Ned I love 
him. There it is in a nutshell/ ‘Keep it in the nut- 
shell/ papa said. ‘ Let it be a private matter between 
ourselves ; don’t let people know.’ I said I didn’t think 
of letting people know — as if we should go about talk- 
ing of it, Miss Felicia — and in the end papa said, ‘I 
hope, Grace, you will respect my wishes/ and I said of 
course I would, and called him a silly dear for saying 
such a thing to me, and went away telling him that I 
was the happiest, happiest girl in all the world. And 
I am, dear Miss Felicia.” 

From this account of the interview I inferred that Ben- 


1 1 6 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


jamin Longmore must have been somewhat taken aback 
by his daughter’s attitude, and that, in the light of her 
ingenuousness and of her trust in him and her own 
heart, his arguments had crumbled to dust. 

I know what passed between Grace and Ned that 
night. 

“Papa has spoken to me, Ned,” she said, “and we 
are to wait three years.” 

“And meanwhile?” asked Ned, anxiously. 

“Meanwhile,” she answered, with a charming smile, 
“ we are to love each other very much.” 

I don’t know how Ned reconciled things in his own 
mind, but he passed a happy evening, and I am sure he 
went away loving his dear girl more than ever, if it were 
possible, and with a thorough belief that she would be 
true to him whatever was the fate fortune had in store 
for him. 

Stirring events were soon to claim our attention ; in 
our own house clouds were brightening, from a worldly 
point of view, but over our dear friends, the Olliers, dark 
clouds were gathering. 

One day I was informed that Mr. Ollier was down- 
stairs, and wished to see me. It was an unusual hour 
for him to call, the middle of the day, and I felt that 
something unusual had happened. There was trouble 
in Philip Ollier’s face, and I clasped his hand warmly. 

“ I come to speak to a friend,” he said. 

“She is here, Mr. Ollier,” I said. 

“You have a true heart, Miss Felicia. You see, I 
have no one else to speak to, to confide in.” He spoke 
in a helpless way, and I sincerely pitied him. 

“Open your heart to me, Mr. Ollier,” I said; “ a 
mouse once helped a lion.” 

“ Have you heard nothing concerning me?” he 
asked. 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


JI 7 

“ Nothing of any importance/’ I replied. 

“ Mr. Longmore has known it for the last two weeks, 
and of course Ned has known it. I did not suppose 
that Ned would introduce the subject to you, not wish- 
ing to grieve you or Grace, but thought it possible that 
Mr. Longmore might have mentioned it. To come to 
the point, Miss Felicia, I have lost my situation/' 

“I am truly, truly sorry, Mr. Ollier." 

“Yes, it is a thing to be sorry for, and yet there rises 
sometimes an odd fancy that I shall be thankful for it 
in the future. You see, Miss Felicia, men may work 
too much and too long in one groove, and if that groove 
be not a golden one there he is, at the end of a long 
life of service, no better off than he was at the com- 
mencement. Still, I should have done nothing to get 
out of the groove in which I have been moving for so 
many years ; but the fact is, I have been forced out of 
it. Our firm has stopped payment, and the business is 
being wound up. Ned — the dearest lad, Miss Felicia, — 
has done all he could to comfort me, and I speak hon- 
estly when I say that it is for his sake, much more than 
for my own, that I regret the crisis. Unfortunately my 
emoluments have been so small that as fast as I earned 
money, it went out ; so that now I find myself without 
the means to support our home. Ned’s hundred a-year 
will not do it, and I am not going to be a burden upon 
him ; it is just about enough to keep himself. Then I 
see the shadow of another approaching trouble which 
seems to be hidden from Ned. If he has any suspicion 
of it he keeps it to himself, which would be a natural 
outcome of his nature ; it is not in him to add to my suf- 
fering. The firm in which he is engaged’is tottering ; 
I have heard it whispered in the city ; and there Ned 
will be, in the same plight as myself. ' 


1 18 MERRY, MERRY BOYS . 

“Ned will always get on, Mr. Ollier/' I said, with an 
endeavor to brighten him up. 

“Ah, my dear Miss Felicia, you don't know what 
struggling men have to go through nowadays." 

“ What does Mr. Longmore say to all this ? ” I asked. 

Philip Ollier rose and paced the room, which was 
his usual habit when he was more than ordinarily dis- 
turbed. 

“ I don't know how to answer you," he said, with a 
deeper sadness in his voice. “As age creeps on all 
the strength, all the resources of our moral nature seem 
to be needed to sustain our faith. New and bitter les- 
sons come and mock us, whispering that we have been 
living in a fool's paradise. Miss Felicia, something — I 
know not what — has come between my old friend and 
me. We are not to each other as we used to be, as I 
once believed we would be till we were in the last stage 
of all. Is the change in him or in me? I question my 
heart and I can find nothing to reproach myself with — 
but that may be my mistake. We are blind to our own 
faults. There was a time when Mr. Longmore's full 
sympathy would have been given to me in trouble, as 
mine would have been given to him. But now, but 

now well, he listens, and says he is sorry, but 

words have a soul as well as a body, and I miss the 
soul which once gave spiritual life to the words he 
addressed to me." 

I did not remonstrate with him ; I should not have 
been true to myself, to him, if I had striven to convince 
him that he was wrong in his impressions. The griev- 
ous change that had taken place in Benjamin Longmore 
was too clear to be ignored, to be argued away. It 
grieved me to know, from the knowledge of my mas- 
ters affairs which my new duties imposed upon me, 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


ll 9 

that it was in his power to assist his friend, and I gath- 
ered from Philip Ollier’s words that this assistance had 
not been offered. Hazardous as were the speculations 
in which my master was engaged, they were prosper- 
ing, and it was only yesterday that he said to me, with 
an air of triumph, that he was two thousand pounds 
richer than he had been a month before. And still he 
did not step forward with that practical sympathy which 
the close and long intercourse between the friends not 
only warranted but demanded. 

“ Now/’ said Philip Ollier, “lam about to speak of 
another matter, which is indeed the principal reason for 
my visit. I have not made money in my career, Miss 
Felicia, but I have earned respect, and an offer has 
been made to me which I am hesitating whether I 
ought to accept. It is an offer to transact some busi- 
ness in Australia which will necessitate my absence 
from England for a considerable time. I am not 
sure whether it will be eventually profitable to me, 
but it provides me with a salary upon which I can live, 
and there is a chance of something better springing 
from it. It will tear me from old and cherished asso- 
ciations, it will separate me from Ned. I have not 
spoken of it to him yet ; I came first to consult you, to 
ask you whether I should accept it. ” 

“ It holds out a chance of good fortune, you say.” 

“Yes, Miss Felicia, it certainly does that; but it will 
take me from England — it will tear me from my dear 
lad.” 

“Only for a time, Mr. Ollier.” 

“Then you advise me to accept it?” 

“Nothing better offering, Mr. Ollier,” I said firmly, 
“ I should advise you to accept it. Through its means 
you may by and by be of assistance to your son.” 


120 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


“You look upon it as a duty, Miss Felicia ?” 

“ I do, sir.” 

“ It has presented itself to me in that light. Thank 
you for your advice ; it has strengthened me. I shall 
accept the offer. Miss Felicia, my dear Ned will be 
here all alone.” 

“He will not, Mr. Ollier. Grace is here with him, 
and I.” 

“Once more I thank you, from my heart. I cannot 
think of anything that may arise that would deprive 
Ned of your friendship.” 

“Nothing can arise, Mr. Ollier. I promise to be a 
mother to him, and I will not allow him to slip from 
us.” 

He pressed my hand and said, “how sweet is true 
friendship ! What balm it brings to a man’s heart ! ” 

“If the matter is decided,” I asked, “ how soon will 
you have to go ? ”• 

“ Too soon. In three days I must be ready to start.” 

“It may be better so, Mr. Ollier, better than linger- 
ing.” 

“Yes, indeed. There is another thing. Despite the 
altered relations between Mr. Longmore and me I shall 
screw up my courage to ask a favor of him. I have a 
strong impression that in case Ned loses his pres- 
ent situation it may be in Mr. Longmore’s power to 
assist him to another. Surely he will not refuse me. 
It is not much to ask.” 

“I think he would be willing,” I said, and I really 
thought so, or I should not have said as much. 

“I will ask him to-night. I should like to see Grace, 
not to tell her what I have told you ; I shall leave that 
for you to do. ” 

I called Grace down, and she received him with a 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


I 21 


kiss, and asked after Ned. Seeing that he was sad she 
applied herself in a general way to cheer him up, and 
he left us with a lighter heart and brighter face. 

A gentle melancholy pervaded our family circle on 
this night. The news of Philip Ollier’s approaching 
departure had been communicated to all, and even 
Benjamin Longmore was softened by the impending 
separation. Some shadowy spirit of the old cordiality 
was manifest in their conversation, and Philip Ollier, 
before he left, took an opportunity of informing me that 
my master had promised to assist Ned to a new situa- 
tion in case he required one. I was thankful for that 
much, but knowing that my master did nothing further 
to help his friend, even by the offer of a small loan, I 
could not but mourn over the selfishness and the greed 
for money which had entered his soul, and threatened 
to blot out all his higher and better attributes. 

I will not linger upon the details of Philip Olliers 
departure. I saw the leave-taking between him and 
Grace, but not that between him and his dear Ned, 
which must have been painful and heart-rending. 

“You must not grieve, dear Mr. Ollier,” said the 
sweet girl as they stood together his arm around her ; 
“we will take care of Ned, Miss Felicia and I. We 
shall not try to make him forget you, but we will help 
him to be cheerful and happy all the time you are 
away. ” 

I remember that Philip Ollier once attempted to start 
the old song, “When we were boys, jolly, jolly boys,” 
but he broke down in the second line. 

We all stood at the street door, watching him and 
Ned go down the street arm in arm. Presently neither 
Grace nor I could see their forms, our eyes being filled 
with tears. When I wiped mine away I looked at Ben- 


122 


MERRY, \ MERRY BOYS. 


jamin Longmore, and saw him standing on the 
footpath with a preoccupied expression on his face. 
The next moment he turned on his heel and entered 
the house, his lips tightly closed, as though a pregnant 
chapter in his life was closed for ever. 


CHAPTER XV. 

GRACE CLAIMS HER SHARE OF SORROW. 

What Philip Ollier predicted came to pass. It is a 
trite saying that misfortunes never come singly, but 
that does not make it less true. Before there was time 
for a letter to reach us from Australia, Ned’s firm broke 
up, and he was thrown out of employment. Benjamin 
Longmore was good as his word. He offered Ned a 
situation in an office in the city which, to my surprise, 
I learned only then that he had opened to transact his 
new operations in. The salary was the same as that 
which Ned had received, and the young man therefore 
was no better off. But he was no worse off, and the 
mischief of idleness was spared to him. As to the par- 
ticular nature of the business that was transacted in 
this office I am not in a position to offer any enlighten- 
ment. My master had imposed secrecy upon me in 
my new duties, and doubtless he had imposed the 
same obligation upon Ned, who never opened his lips 
upon the subject. I was struck by certain signs in Ned 
which gave me pain. His new service did not seem 
to sit easily upon him. A thoughtfulness stole into his 
face, and there was now a marked constraint in his 
manner when we were all sitting together in Benjamin 
Longmore’s house. 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


123 

“My dear boy is not as bright as I would like him 
to be/’ said Grace to me. “The separation from his 
father is making him melancholy.” 

That may have been, but that alone was not the cause 
of what I observed in him. Of course I was ignorant 
of the exact business relations between him and Ben- 
jamin Longmore — I mean of their personal association, 
whether it was conducted agreeably or otherwise ; but 
it jarred upon me that Benjamin Longmore, even in 
our private intercourse at home, occasionally spoke to 
Ned with the air of a master speaking to a man in his 
service. It jarred upon Ned, too, and I saw him upon 
those occasions look at Grace, as if to ascertain what 
she thought of it. 

If anything could have set his mind at ease it was my 
dear girls conduct towards him. It was marked by 
extreme delicacy and tenderness, and she made it as 
plain to him as a modest maiden may that her feelings 
for him were those of sincere and absorbing love. It 
helped to comfort him, but it did not remove the cause 
for uneasiness and self-questioning. After a time I 
heard from him that things were not going well with 
his father. 

“He is not only ill and unfortunate, Miss Felicia,” 
he said, “but he is breaking his heart because we are 
separated. " 

“ Have you spoken to Grace of this? ” I asked. 

“No,” replied Ned, “I do not wish to pain her.” 

“It will pain her more,” I said, “when she learns 
that you are keeping a secret from her.” 

“Shall I tell her, then?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said, “let there be absolute confidence 
between you.” 

It was the dear girl herself, however, who broached 


124 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


the subject first, at the very moment Ned was about to 
confide in her. We three were in the sitting-room alone. 
My master was in his study, poring over figures ; 
Grandmamma Longmore was nursing a slight cold in 
her bedroom. 

“ Ned,” said Grace; they spoke quite openly before 
me, “ I have a right to share your sorrows. What is 
grieving you ? ” 

“He was going to tell you to-night, dear,” I said, 
“and has been silent only because he would keep sor- 
row from you.” 

“You must not do that, dear Ned,” said Grace ; “it 
is mine as well as yours, and I claim my share.” 

Profoundly affected, Ned unbosomed himself, and 
gave her his father’s letters to read. 

“ Dear Ned,” said Grace, “ if it were not for me you 
would go to him ? ” 

“ If it were not for you,” said Ned, “and if I had the 
means I would go to him. May I confess something 
to you ? ” 

“You must, Ned; you must confess everything.” 

“I have been saving a little money, towards the time 
when we — but I must not speak of that. ” 

“Towards the time when we are married,” said Grace 
sweetly. “ Go on, dear Ned.” 

“It is but a drop in the ocean, only twenty pounds 
up to now. Lately when I have received my dear 
father’s letters the thought has come into my mind that 
what I have saved would be nearly enough to take me 
to him.” 

“And it is only because of me that you do not enter- 
tain this thought quite seriously. Tell me, dear Ned. ” 

“ Yes,’ said Ned in a low tone. “I cannot bear the 
thought of going away from you.” 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


I2 5 

“But, dear Ned,” said Grace, laying her hand upon 
his, “your father claims your first duty. I come after- 
wards.” 

“No, no,” cried Ned, but she held up her hand and 
stopped him. 

“When I think, dear Ned,” she said, “of all that 
your dear father is in himself, of all that he has done 
for you, of the love he bears for you, my duty becomes 
very clear to me.” 

“ Your duty Grace ! ” 

“Yes, Ned, my duty. It is not I who must keep you 
from his side. If he needs you, it is your duty to goto 
him, and my duty to tell you to go.” 

“And what will you do, Grace?” asked Ned, in a 
voice of great sadness. 

“ Remain here, and be true to you till better times 
shine on us. Yes, Ned, dear, you may be sure I shall 
remain true and faithful ; and better times will come, 
be sure of that, too. Perhaps,” and now she spoke in 
a lower tone, and her head was cast down, “there is 
another reason why you should go. I have also had 
a secret which I have kept from you. Do you think I 
have not seen that you are not happy in my fathers 
service ? Do you not think I have not seen how you 
have suffered when he has spoken to you, here and in this 
room, as he should not have spoken to one so dear to 
us ? I have seen it all dear Ned and I say to you, Go, 
and God bless you ! Who knows? You may find in a 
new land the opportunity you cannot meet with here. 
Many another man has done it — why not you ? And 
Ned dear,” she concluded, a tender archness stealing 
into her voice, “ you should go for my sake as well as 
for your father s. We cannot marry without papa’s con- 
sent, and that he will not give till you are rich. You 


126 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS, 


will have a better chance of getting rich in the new 
world than in the old ; and though I will wait for you, 
if I must, till I am an old woman, I would rather not 
wait so long. ” 

I cannot describe how this speech stirred us ; its 
thoughtfulness, its unselfishness, its wisdom, its tender- 
ness, impressed me more deeply than anything I had 
ever heard, and I lifted up my heart in thankfulness 
that our dear Grace had grown to be what her mother 
would have had her if she had lived to teach and guide 
her. As for Ned, he gazed upon the sweet girl with 
reverence and devotion, and I saw that she had infused 
into his breast in this most trying hour the hope and 
courage which were needed to strengthen him. And 
let me say here that beyond such expressions of tender- 
ness as I have recorded there was no love-making in 
the common acceptation of the term between Grace 
and Ned. Tacitly consenting to Benjamin Longmore’s 
wishes respecting their engagement they had not 
kissed each other once since the night upon which they 
had plighted their troth. I could not but admire and 
commend them for their conduct ; if anything were 
needed to prove the purity of their love, it was this. 

The result of the present conversation was that Ned 
said he would wait till he received the next letter from 
his father, and if matters had not then improved he 
would go — to come back and claim Grace before the 
three years were expired. 

As events turned out his departure was more sudden 
than any of us expected. It took place on the day of 
the week which was devoted by Grace and me to the 
disposal of Mrs. Longmore’s legacy, and it happened 
that on this day we were absent from the house for a 
much longer time than usual. We went out early in the 


MERR F, MERR Y BO YS. 


127 

morning, and did not return till nearly six o’clock in the 
evening. The moment we entered the house a servant 
gave Grace the following letter : 

“My Dear Grace, — I called at the house at twelve 
o’clock to see you, and to my bitter disappointment 
found you were not at home. I remembered then 
that this is the day for your visits to the poor, and that 
it was probable you would not get home till the after- 
noon. I cannot wait till then to see you ; if I did I 
should miss the ship that will take me to my father. 
Grace, dear, I received a letter from him this morning, 
and I fear he is dying ; I fear that I may be too late to 
see him alive. I dare not linger here a day, an hour, 
with my father’s cry from the other side of the world ring- 
ing in my ears. A ship sails from Plymouth for Mel- 
bourne very early to-morrow, at sunrise I am told, and a 
friend has given me a note to the agents there, who will, 
I hope, provide me with a berth in the steerage for the 
twenty pounds I have been able to save out of my sal- 
ary. I have just enough money besides to take me to 
Plymouth, a train for which place starts at three o’clock. 
You see I have not a minute to lose. It pains me sorely 
to leave so suddenly, without being able to bid you 
good-bye, but my duty calls me, and you will not blame 
me. Your father will think my sudden departure 
strange; I cannot help that; he will not be sorry to 
lose me, as he has not a high opinion of my abilities. 
Him, also, I have been unable to see, but I have ex- 
plained to him in a letter the urgent reason for my leav- 
ing so abruptly. I have no time to write at greater 
length. Good-bye, dear Grace. Heaven watch over 
and protect you. I shall write to you from Australia, 
and it would be a joy to me to find a letter from you 
awaiting me on my arrival. Send it to my dear father’s 


128 MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 

address, where you have already written. What would 
I not give to be able to go on the mail steamer? But 
it is out of the question. I think I never realized till 
now the true value of money. Once more, dear Grace, 
good-bye. I shall never change ; my heart will always 
be the same. Pray with me that my fears concerning 
my dear father are groundless, and that he will be re- 
stored to health and strength. I seem to feel that if I 
only arrive in time I shall be able to save him. Give 
my love to dear Miss Felicia. 

‘ ‘ Affectionately Y ours, 

“ Ned Ollier.” 

In a postscript Ned gave the name of the ship he was 
going out in, The Silver Queen.” 

Grace read this letter in silence, and giving it to me 
to read, went to the window and sat there quietly. 
When I returned the letter she said : 

“ I am glad Ned has gone. I am afraid if I wrote a 
letter and addressed it to him on the ship it would not 
reach him in time.” 

“ I fear not, dear.” 

“But we can send a telegram,” she said. 

We proceeded immediately to the nearest telegraph 
office, and the telegram was despatched: 

“ Dear Ned. You have done what is right. I shall 
pray for your safety and your dear father’s recovery, 
Miss Felicia and I unite in love. You will be ever in 
my thoughts and in my heart. Grace.” 

On our way home Grace said : 

“Unless papa speaks to us of Ned I should prefer 
not to say anything. Ned has explained things to him, 
and it is for papa to speak first, if he wishes to do so. ” 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


129 


I had nothing to urge against this proposal, divining 
that Grace, knowing that Ned was not greatly in favor 
with her father, wished not to be compelled to say any- 
thing that would vex him ; for that she would stand up 
boldly in defence of her lover there was not in my mind 
the least doubt. But Benjamin Longmore said nothing 
whatever about Ned, and for a long time the young 
man’s name was not referred to in any conversation 
between father and daughter. Grace, however, ques- 
tioned the servant upon the subject of Ned’s visit to the 
house. 

“ He seemed very much flurried, miss, ’’the girl said, 
“ and asked if no one was at home. I said only Mrs. 
Longmore, and he asked to see her.” 

This was news to us, and we hurried to Grandmamma 
Longmore to ascertain what Ned had said to her. 

“Dear, dear!” exclaimed the old lady. “What 
should he say ? He just called in, that was all.” 

“But grandma,” said Grace, “didn’t he say some- 
thing about going away ? ” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Grandmamma Longmore. “I 
remember now he did say something or other about a 
journey, but whether it was to Cheslea or China I really 
cannot tell you. There, don’t bother me any more ; I 
want to go to sleep.” 

When Grandmamma Longmore was not inclined to be 
communicative there was no getting anything out of 
her, so we left her to her repose ; but I could not help 
thinking that she was concealing something from us — 
a reflection that caused me a fit of self-reproach for 
doing her an injustice.. Whether I did so or not will 
hereafter be seen. 

The day after Ned was gone, Grace and I walked to 
my dear mistress’s grave. We always did so, at Grace’s 

9 


/ 


1 30 MERR V, MERR Y BOYS. 

prompting, when her heart was troubled. Benjamin 
Longmore had set up a tombstone, and there was a 
railing round the grave, which was bright and bloom- 
ing with flowers. I must tell you here that although 
we invariably took flowers to my honored mistress’s 
last earthly resting place, and paid the man who 
looked after the grounds for the planting of others 
over the grave, its blooming appearance was not due 
entirely to us. Much more was done than our money 
would provide for, and I had not discovered by whose 
orders. I had repeatedly questioned the care-taker 
upon the subject, but he was obstinately reserved, and 
would not give me any information. All that he 
would say was: 

“I am paid for what’s done, and there’s an end of 
it.” 

In my mind I gave the credit to Benjamin Longmore, 
who, I decided, had imposed silence upon the man. 
On the occasion of this visit, however, I was unde- 
ceived. 

When we were within a few yards of the grave I saw 
the man in conversation with a gentleman and a lady, 
who were pointing to the ground, and giving some 
instructions respecting it. The lady had brought with 
her a parcel of roots, which the man was taking from the 
paper she held in her hand, and arranging them about 
the ground as he was directed. Approaching closer, 
the gentleman and lady turned to look at us. 

The lady, who was young, of the same age as Grace 
I judged, and almost as pretty— (not quite ; that I 
would never allow) — I did not know, but the gentle- 
man I recognized immediately. It was Mr. Macmil- 
lan. 

It gave me true pleasure to see him, and to discover 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


131 

that it was he who had secretly helped us to make the 
grave bright and beautiful. 

“It is you,” I said, holding out my hand, “ who has 
done this through all these years.” 

“It is little to do,” he said, fixing his eyes on Grace 
very earnestly. “You need not tell me who this lady 
is. How she resembles her mother ! ” He now 
addressed Grace. “I remember your name; your 
sainted mother told me one day when she lifted me 
from the deepest trouble of my life. You are Miss 
Grace Longmore.” 

“Yes,” said Grace. 

“ My name is Macmillan,” he said, “ and what I am 
I owe to her.” He pointed to the grave. “This is 
my daughter Mary, who holds your mother in loving 
and honored remembrance. She was with me in the 
park one dolorous morning, when all the world was 
dark and my heart was filled with bitterness and rebel- 
lion. An angel came up to us — your mother; and 
from that moment there was light in heaven, and the 
world became beautiful. 

Grace extended her hands to Mary Macmillan, and 
kissed her. 

“It is what her mother would have done, it is what 
her mother did to my little Mary on that day.” 

“You have prospered,” I said. 

“Beyond my expectations. I have made money, 
and have more than enough. Miss Felicia — I do not 
forget, you see — there are men, women, and children 
living respectable lives, who owe their salvation to the 
lesson I learned that morning in the park. I say it 
humbly, not in laudation of myself.” 

My heart swelled with gratitude the flowers on the 
grave were not more bright and beautiful than the deeds 


MERR Y, MERR Y BOYS. 


132 

inspired by her whose last remains lay within that nar- 
row space. 

“ I should like to know you and your daughter bet- 
ter,” said Grace, very sweetly. 

“We shall feel honored,” said Mr. Macmillan, giving 
her his card. 

“We do not live in a grand house, but if you visit us 
I may be able to show you something that will interest 
you.” 

“We will come,” said Grace. 

He did not prolong the interview. We shook hands 
all round, and Grace and Mary Macmillan kissed each 
other again, and then we went our several ways. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“who slanders him, slanders me.” 

The most interesting column in the newspapers now 
for Grace and me was the column which contained the 
shipping news. Daily we scanned it, long before it 
was possible that any news of “The Silver Queen” 
could be found there. Grace wrote regularly to Ned, 
and never a day passed that we did not speak about 
him. So time rolled on, and brought changes in its 
march. Benjamin Longmore gave up his situation, 
and devoted himself entirely to his speculations. He 
•was wonderfully lucky ; everything he touched turned 
to gold, and gold, gold, gold was now his chief and 
only object in life. He did not speak to us of Ned, nor 
did we to him. With grief did I observe that his one 
topic of conversation was money. His face grow hard, 
his eyes were lighted up with greed ; the worst quali- 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


*33 

ties of his nature were brought into play. For him 
there was now no sweetness in home ; the dear old 
days were gone, apparently never to return. The trans- 
formation in him was complete and appalling. 

Grace saw the change as well as I, but we did not 
refer to it. In our conversations about Ned we calcu- 
lated that it would take five months from the day of his 
departure before a letter could reach us. Three months 
of these five were gone, and still no nows of Ned’s ship. 

We grew anxious, restless. “Is it likely,” said 
Grace, “that we could have overlooked the arrival of 
the ship? ” s 

I ascertained the address of the London agents of 
the vessel, and we made inquiries there, and came 
away with sinking hearts. “The Silver Queen,” now 
overdue, had not arrived at its destination, and it was 
evident that they had fears for its safety. Another week 
passed, and still no news. Grace went out sometimes 
by herself, and paid regular visits to the shipping office. 
On the occasion of one of these visits Benjamin Long- 
more had sent for me to assist him in some accounts, 
and I had therefore to forego my wish to accompany 
her. 

The events of this day can never fade from my mem- 
ory. Placing papers before me, and giving me some 
necessary instructions, Benjamin Longmore left the 
room. I was looking down the lists before commenc- 
ing when I came to a line that caused the blood to 
rush into my face and eyes, and for a little while I was 
blind. My pulses throbbed at fever heat ; I was dazed 
and overcome. 

Rising, I shook myself violently in the effort to re- 
cover my senses. The mist before my eyes melted 
away ; I could see once more. Looking down upon 


134 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS . 


the line, I read it again. The words and figures were : 
“ Stolen by Edward Ollier, £200.” 

“Do you understand the figures, Miss Felicia?” 
asked Benjamin Longmore, returning to the room. 

“ I have not commenced yet,” I replied. “ What is 
the meaning of this ? ” 

I pointed to the line. He read it slowly : 

“ ‘Stolen by Edward Ollier, £200/ That is quite 
correct.” 

ft It cannot be, sir,” I said. 

“ It is, I tell you,” he said impatiently. “ That is the 
sum of which Edward Ollier robbed me.” 

“Are you dreaming sir ? ” I cried, indignantly. 
“ Can you be in your right senses?” 

“I am wide awake, Miss Felicia, and in my right 
senses. ” 

I laid down my pen. 

“I can do nothing until you give me an explanation 
of this wicked falsehood.” 

He looked at me sternly, bit his lip, and said : 

“Because of your service and position in my family, 
Miss Felicia, I will overlook your indiscretion, and will 
give you the explanation you ask for. It is very sim- 
ple. Edward Ollier left the country very sudden- 
ly, and ran away with two hundred pounds of my 
money, paying for his passage with part of it, and 
probably squandering the rest. It was only my old 
associations with his father that prevented me from 
prosecuting him, and from having detectives sent after 
him to bring him back.” 

“Edward Ollier,” I retorted, “paid for his steer- 
age passage in ‘The Silver Queen’ with twenty pounds 
which he was able to save out of his salary.” 

“ How do you know that? ” 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


135 

“The information was conveyed to me in a letter 
from him.” 

“ But it is not difficult to write a letter,” said Benja- 
min Longmore ; “it is not difficult to say that you 
take a steerage passage when you occupy the saloon. 
1 repeat, this young man robbed me.” 

“ How ? In what way ? ” 

“It is again very simple. On the morning of his 
flight I had left at the office for him an envelope con- 
taining bank notes for two hundred pounds which he 
was to take personally to Guilford, and pay to a firm of 
lawyers there, and bring back a receipt. There were 
reasons of my own why I desired that this money 
should be paid in money instead of by check, and 
personally by an agent of mine instead of being sent 
through the post. Miss Felicia, the money was never 
paid. Edward Ollier put it into his pocket and ran 
away with it. He is a thief.” 

A cry of horror rang through the room. Turning, 
we saw Grace, who had entered while we were convers- 
ing, and had overheard the frightful accusation. She 
held a paper in her hand ; her face was white ; her 
limbs were trembling. 

“ Grace, my darling Grace ! ” I cried, running 
toward her. 

“ Do not touch me,” she cried, holding her hands 
against me, “do not speak to me! Let me be a 
moment — a moment — a moment ! ” 

By a supreme effort she called up all her strength ; 
she controlled the trembling of her body ; her voice 
was firmer when she spoke. But the horror still dwelt 
in her eyes, and her face was white as falling snow. 
Stepping close to Benjamin Longmore she said : 

“What words were those you uttered, father?” 


MERRY i MERRY BOYS. 


136 

From that day she never called him “papa ” but used 
the word “father” instead. 

“ I am sorry you overheard me, Grace,” he replied ; 
“what I said was intended for Miss Felicia’s ears 
alone.” 

“ But Miss Felicia is my friend,” said Grace. “I 
have not a secret hidden from her, and she would not 
hide this from me. She knows me — she knows my 
heart. What you said to her about one who cannot 
defend himself ” — her face suddenly dropped into her 
hands ; as suddenly she lifted it again — “ must be said 
to me.” 

“If it must be, it must,” said Benjamin Long- 
more. “Edward Ollier robbed me of two hundred 
pounds. He is a thief.” 

“He was no thief,” exclaimed Grace, and her voice 
rang clear and loud. “ He was a gentleman, pure and 
unstained. As I am a sinless woman, no sin lies at his 
door. Who slanders him, slanders me ! Tell me 
more. I know you have received letters from his 
father. Have you replied to them ? Have you dared 
to fling this vile accusation into his face as you have 
flung it into mine ? I will be answered, father.” 

“You shall be. Yes, I have received letters from 
Mr. Philip Ollier, and I have replied to them, for the 
last time. He will never hear from me again. I have 
told him what I have told you — that his son is a thief.” 

“How horrible, how horrible,” said Grace, “to 
slander the innocent dead ! ” 

“The dead, my darling Grace!” I cried. “The 
dead ! ” 

“ ‘The Silver Queen/” she said, “the ship my Ned 
went out in, is lost at sea. Lost, lost at sea! Not a 
soul is saved ! ” 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


l Z7 

The paper fluttered from her hands to the ground. 
I picked it up quickly, and read the appalling news, 
contained in a telegram, that “The Silver Queen ” had 
foundered at sea, with all on board. 

“May you live to repent it ! ” said Grace to her 
father. “O, my Ned, my noble, innocent Ned! O, 
my heart, my heart ! ” 

She made a wild movement of her hands, and swayed 
to and fro. Had it not been for the support of my 
arms she would have fallen ; but I held her insensible 
form close, close to my breast, and bore her slowly 
from the room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

GRANDMAMMA LONGMORES VANITIES COME TO AN END. 

Later intelligence confirmed the sad news. How 
eagerly we read the newspapers and searched their 
columns for one ray of hope ! But none was given to 
us. Every succeeding piece of news strengthened the 
first rumors until they became a certainty. Floating 
pieces of timber from the doomed* ship were picked up 
by vessels homeward and outward bound, among 
them part of the figure head of the vessel, which seemed 
to place its fate beyound the possibility of doubt. 

Whatever it was in my power to do to comfort Grace's 
bruised heart that did I do with all the earnestness of 
my earnest love. For a long, long time I despaired 
of my darling's recovery ; I feared she would die, for 
she lay, indeed, for some time between life and death. 
But the good Lord was merciful, and she was spared 
to us. Ah, the day when the doctor informed me that 
she was out of danger — what a joyful day it was ! I 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


138 

had the sole charge of my dear, and I would allow no 
one to attend to her but myself. 

Regularly every day I conveyed to Benjamin Long- 
more the intelligence of his daughter’s state, and I was 
glad to see that during that time of agonized uncertainty 
his heart seemed to be softened ; but when he knew 
that Grace was out of danger the demon that had taken 
possession of his soul re-asserted itself, and he renewed 
his pursuit after gold with even keener zest than before. 
While his daughter lay near to death I thought it right 
to read to him part of the letter which Grace received 
from Ned on the day he went away. 

“You must perceive, sir,” I said, referring to Ned’s 
words : “Him, also, I have been unable to see, but I 
have explained to him in a letter the urgent reason for 
my leaving so abruptly;” “that Ned wrote to you 
before he left.” 

“No letter ever reached me,” said Benjamin Long- 
more. “Miss Felicia, I prefer not to say another 
word upon this subject. I do not suppose that Grace 
will refer to it ; nor shall I. Enough mischief has 
already been done. ” 

It may have been foolish in me to ask, “ Do you still 
retain your opinion, sir? ” 

“I still retain my opinion,” he replied. “And now 
let the matter drop.” 

When Grace was strong enough to rise and dress we 
both wore mourning for Ned. I did not do so while 
she was abed, dreading the effect of a black dress upon 
her spirits, and it was she who asked me to have 
mourning prepared for her. There was no lack of 
money. Benjamin Longmore gave freely, and did not 
demur to the demands I made upon his purse. Grace 
said to me once : 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


39 


“ Do not neglect my father, Miss Felicia/’ 

I did not ; the home went on as usual, only that the 
light had departed from it. For two or three evenings 
after Grace came downstairs her father sat witl\us, but 
there was no flow of conversation. We sat very quiet, 
reading and writing, and it was only when Grace and I 
retired to bed that our thoughts found free expression. 
Very soon Benjamin Longmore absented himself from 
our society in the evening, but before he did so Grace 
said to him : 

“ Father, you are getting rich, are you not?” 

“ 1 am making money,” he answered. 

“ More than you have ever done before ?” 

‘‘Yes, more than I have ever done. And I shall 
make more still.” 

“Will you give me some?” 

“ How much ? ” 

“If you can spare it, I should like you to give me a 
pound a week, to spend in whatever way I please.” 

“You shall have it, Grace. Here is the first quarter. ” 

He gave her two five pound notes and three sover- 
eigns. I knew well why she asked him for this money ; 
she intended that it should be given away in charity, 
so that upon some small portion of her father’s gains a 
blessing might rest ; and in that w T ay it was disposed 
of. When she was quite convalescent she said to me : 

“ I am glad I am well again, Miss Felicia. There is 
work in the world to do. As my dear mamma’s memory 
is honored, so shall Ned’s be.” 

Before we had received the sad news of the loss of 
Ned’s ship we had paid a visit to Mr. Macmillan, who, 
in another part of the east of London than that we 
had been in the habit of going, was engaged in noble 
work of his own devising. He had established work- 


140 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


shops in which outcast boys were taught trades, and 
when they were of a suitable age, sent abroad, to differ- 
ent British colonies. His practical mind rendered him 
eminently fit to conduct a benevolent enterprise of this 
nature, and I may be permitted here to record my belief 
that men who work as he was doing are the true apostles 
of humanity and civilization. We asked to be allowed to 
assist him by our poor efforts, and he gladly enrolled 
us. Thus my dear Grace found a new sphere of duties 
which not alone enlisted her sympathies, but prevented 
her from brooding to an injurious degree over the great 
sorrow of her life. 

The first thing she had done after her illness, when 
she was able to hold a pen, was to write to Philip 
Ollier a letter of condolence upon the loss of his dear 
son. It was a letter which none but a tender-souled 
and faithful woman could have written ; and in the 
reference she made to her father she gave Philip Ollier 
clearly to understand that slanderous whispers against 
the living and the dead found no echo in her heart. 

“As long as I live,” she said, “I shall mourn dear 
Ned as the best and noblest man I have known. He 
is lost to us, but I, as well as you, dear Mr. Ollier, 
will be faithful to his memory.” 

She signed herself, “ Your loving daughter.” 

To this letter she received no direct reply, but Philip 
Ollier wrote to me. His reason for doing so, he said, 
was that Mr. Longmore had forbidden him to address 
any further letters to him or his daughter, and that he 
deemed it wrong to do anything that might effect a 
breach between father and daughter. Nevertheless he 
made it quite clear that Grace’s letter had brought him 
inexpressible comfort and balm. “Grace is like her 
mother,” he said ; “I can give her no higher praise.” 


MERRY> MERRY BOYS. 


14 1 

He sent his dear love to her and said he would never 
forget her. 

Grace was not deterred from writing to him again 
because he did not reply direct to her. She told him 
she approved of his motive, and that it was her inten- 
tion to send him a letter every month unless he forbade 
her. Thus a three-cornered correspondence was kept, 
up between us. From time to time we were cheered 
by the news he gave us. He had got over his sickness, 
and was at work again. There were opportunities, he 
said, of making money, but he had no heart to try. 

“Tell him to try, Miss Felicia,” she said, “and to 
send you home a little for our charities.” 

This, now, was the one object of her life, to do good 
to others. 

I gave Philip Ollier her message, and from that time 
he commenced to remit to me a monthly draft which 
was added to our store. Thus, out of deepest sorrow 
sprang sweetest flowers. 

And so time rolled on until my dear Grace was 
twenty-one years of age, when she came into posses- 
sion of her mother’s legacy. Benjamin Longmore, to 
do him justice, was the first to acquaint her that she 
was now mistress of a capital amounting to over one 
thousand pounds, in addition to her mothers original 
legacy. 

“ You had better leave the money in my hands,” he 
said. “ I have been fortunate in my investment of the 
interest, and I can do even better for you now.” 

To this Grace would not consent, saying that she 
desired the whole of the money should be given to her, 
to dispose of as she pleased. He argued with her, but 
she was not to be turned from her resolve, and in the 
end he gave her a check for the full amount, saying 
that she would lose every penny of it. 


142 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


With this check we went to Mr. Macmillan, and 
after some private talk between him and Grace, he con- 
sented to invest the money as she desired and to under- 
take the conduct of the business details it involved. I 
was not hurt that she settled the matter privately with 
Mr. Macmillan, knowing that it was necessary she 
should give him an explanation of her motives, in 
which her father’s name could not but be introduced ; 
and it was best she should do this without the presence 
of a third person. 

I must now say something of Benjamin Longmore’s 
proceedings during these years. 

The good fortune which had attended his first specu« 
lations clung to him pertinaciously. He still claimed 
my services from time to time, but he had relieved me 
of the greater portion of the duties he had imposed up- 
on me, and it was only about once a month that I was 
closeted with him in the manipulation of figures. I was 
amazed by what I learned. Money was rolling in up- 
on him, and his investments and speculations became 
colossal. I saw his name quoted in certain papers, 
which he kept in his private room, as a millionaire, and 
though this was not exactly the truth, there was a fair 
justification for the statement. Shortly after he handed 
Grace her little fortune he boastfully stated to me that 
he was worth not less than five hundred thousand 
pounds. 

“What is he going to do with all this money?” I 
thought. “ He cannot take it with him to the grave.” 

It was at about this time that men began to come to 
the house whose only conversation was money. It 
seemed to be the pulse of their existence, the blood of 
their life. Money, money, money ; nothing but money. 
The rise and fall of stocks and shares, the launching of 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


143 


new companies, were the only topics. My master gave 
dinners at his house, and Grace and I, at his desire, 
took our places at the table; and upon Grace’s ears and 
mine the flow of conversation produced the same 
effect, amazement and disgust. Some of the guests 
were enlightened men, others were coarse and vulgar, 
but success in the making of money rendered them all 
equal. We could not make ourselves agreeable to 
these fortune-hunters, and after awhile, Benjamin Long- 
more, perceiving that the association was distasteful to 
us, gave his grand dinners in grand hotels and clubs, 
for which we were truly thankful. From that time we 
saw but little of him at home. 

Grandmamma Longmore took great pride in her son’s 
success, and in his honor arrayed herself in new 
dresses of silk and velvet which ill became her.. But 
Grandmamma Longmore was failing; her mind began to 
wander ; she babbled about her childhood’s reminis- 
ences in a manner that warned us that her end was 
approaching. And still her new craze for new dresses 
did not diminish with her failing strength. It shocked 
us to observe her vanity and the narrowness of her 
mind, but we paid her every attention, and bore with 
her weaknesses and shortcomings quietly and patiently. 
She took to her bed, and could not rise from it ; and 
now she would not be satisfied without silk coverings 
on her bed and the furniture in her room, and costly 
hangings to her windows. Her son begrudged her 
nothing ; it was to him she expressed her wishes, 
and he gratified them with a pride and ostentation 
which were odious to me. He gave her diamond rings, 
and she would draw our attention to them, holding up 
her fingers to the light, and saying : 

“See what a great man my son is now. He will be 
king of the world.” 


144 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


“King of the world/’ I thought, “but how about the 
next? ” 

Early one morning she beckoned to me with her head, 
not having the strength to speak. She strove hard to do 
so, but could not. 

“Shall I call your son?” I asked. 

She nodded feebly many times, and I went for Ben- 
jamin Longmore. He remained with her an hour or 
more, and then he came to me hurriedly and bade me 
send quickly for the doctor. But when the doctor ar- 
rived all was over. Grandmamma Longmore was dead. 
So wonderfully thin and small had her face suddenly 
become that it looked like a baby's face a hundred 
years old. And spread out upon the counterpane were 
her shrunken, attenuated hands covered with diamond 
rings. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE. 

There have been many memorable days in my life, 
but not one more memorable than the day following 
Grandmamma Longmore’s funeral. 

As Grace and I were sitting together towards the 
close of the afternoon, within a few minutes of the hour 
at which Benjamim Longmore generally returned home, 
we heard the postman’s knock at the door, and a servant 
came in with a number ot letters, which she handed to 
Grace. Benjamin Longmore’s correspondence, both 
in his office and home, was now very heavy, and Grace 
took from the tray at least twenty letters, which she 
placed by her side without looking over them. We were 
engaged upon some accounts in connection with our 


MERRY. \ MERRY BOYS. 


145 


charities, and we wished to finish them before Benjamin 
Longmore came home, so the letters lay in a pile while 
we proceeded with our task. No sooner was it com- 
pleted than Benjamin Longmore entered the room. 

Grace glanced at the letters, and said : 

“They are all for you, father/' 

He took them from her, nodded, and left us. 

“You have dropped a letter, Grace," I said. 

She stooped and picked it up, and a wild, frightened 
look flashed into, her eyes. 

“What is it, Grace? ” I asked, in alarm. 

She did not answer, but stood, with her eyes fixed 
upon the letter in her hand. 

“Look at it," she whispered. “ Merciful God ! Can 
I be dreaming ? " 

I looked at the letter, which she held tight, though her 
hands were trembling. It was addressed to Miss Grace 
Longmore, and unless my eyes deceived me, the hand- 
writing was Ned’s. 

“Be calm, my dear," I said, my heart beating vio- 
lently ; “it is only a chance resemblance." 

“ It is not," she cried. “ My Ned, my dear Ned, wrote 
this name ! O, is it possible, is it possible ? " 

She pressed the letter to her breast, and broke into a 
flood of tears. 

“Shall I open it, dear?" I said. 

“ No one but I must open it," she replied, controlling 
her agitation. “See, see! It is an Australian letter, 
and it is in Ned’s writing. Give me strength — give me 
strength ! " 

I knew the wild hope that was throbbing in her brain ; 
it was throbbing in my own. Presently she sank to her 
knees, and laying her head upon her chair, prayed in 
silence : I prayed, too, and waited. 

10 


46 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


She rose, still trembling, but calmer and stronger, and 
slowly opened the envelope. As her eyes fell upon the 
first few words, she sobbed. 

“ Let me feel your arms about me, Miss Felicia ! 
Tell me I am not dreaming, or I shall go mad ! ” 

I pressed her to my heart, I whispered soothing 
assurances to her, I implored her to summon all her 
fortitude. My efforts were successful. 

“ Dear friend, ” she sobbed, “sweet friend! What 
should I do without you ! ” 

With what infinite gratitude did we.peruse the letter 
which was, indeed, a voice from the grave. For our 
dear Ned was living, having been wonderfully spared 
to tell his own tale, to vindicate his honor which had 
been so foully besmeared. It was wonderful, wonder- 
ful ! And in this little room, saddened by sad mem- 
ories, hope and joy reigned once more. 

“ My Dear Grace, ” the letter ran, ‘ ‘ I can imagine the 
feelings which will agitate you when you receive this 
letter which God, in His mercy, has permitted me to 
live to write. Not for all the riches in the world would 
I allow the earliest mail to leave these shores without 
a letter from me to you. I can scarcely control my im- 
patience ; I shall count the days, the hours, till it reaches 
your dear hands. 

“Grace, dear, our ship was indeed lost, but I and 
five others were saved. I will not grieve your tender 
heart by relating our sufferings. They are over, and 
one day the great blessing may be mine of seeing you 
again, and telling you all which the brief time at my 
disposal (for the mail closes in two hours) will not 
allow me now to narrate. 

“Briefly, dear, the story of our peril and our escape 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


14 7 

is this. We encountered a terrible, a frightful storm, 
and for three days and nights our ship was tossed and 
battered about till masts, bulwarks, decks were torn 
from it and cast into the wild seas. In that time a great 
number of passengers and sailors were washed over- 
board, and those that remained could do nothing but 
wait for death. Early in the storm we lost our boats, 
but had we not, and had we put to sea in them while 
the storm was raging, it is not possible they could have 
lived, crowded as they must have been with despairing 
mortals. At length came the final moment. The ship 
went down, and we with it; but rising to the surface, 
my hands clutched a spar which slipped from my grasp. 
But contact with this spar inspired me with a faint hope. 
The sea was strewn with broken pieces of the wreck, 
and the fact of my being a good swimmer was the cause 
of my rescue. To one of these pieces of wreck a dozen 
men and women were clinging, and I managed to get 
upon it. I do not know for how long we were beaten 
about on this frail means of succor ; it seemed to us to 
be weeks, but that could not have been, for we were 
without food, and could not have lived so long. I think, 
however, it must have been for sixty or seventy hours, 
at the end of which time only six of us were left. Then 
we were cast upon some rocks in the South Pacific, and 
in a most distressful condition, crawled to land. We 
were upon an island, and we the only human beings on 
it. During and before the storm “The Silver Queen ” 
had been driven out of its proper course, and we did 
not know where we were. Grace, dear, we lived upon 
this island for over three years without seeing a ship. 
We neglected no means to attract a passing vessel, and 
we had almost given up hope when a ship that had also 
been driven out of its course, saw our signals and took 


148 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


us on board. That is the story, related as briefly as 
possible, and the one morsel of comfort that animates 
me now as I write is that the news of our rescue, doubt- 
less with the names of the few' who were saved, has 
been cabled to the London newspapers and published 
in them, so that, long before you can receive this letter, 
you will have known that I was one of the number. Of 
my dear father’s joy I need not speak, and my joy at 
seeing him well and strong you may imagine. 

“ And now, dear Grace, I come to the subject wffiich 
has caused so much grief, so much injustice. It is in- 
cumbent on me to clear my good name. 

“ My father has show T n me all the letters he has 
received from Miss Felicia, from you, and from your 
father ; and he has described to me what he wrote in 
his letters to you all. Thus I know exactly what has 
transpired. For your faith in me, for your dear letters 
to my father, I thank you, Grace. Heaven will reward 
you, for kind wmrds and deeds are never lost. 

“Dear Grace, it is true that your father left in the 
office for me a letter containing bank notes for two 
hundred pounds, with instructions what to do wdth the 
money. But at the very time I was reading this letter, 
another was delivered to me from my father in Aus- 
tralia, which made me fear that he w r as dying, and I 
resolved to go out to him without the delay of an hour. 
I made inquiries, and was informed that a ship, ‘The 
Silver Queen,’ was to sail from Plymouth early the next 
morning. Had I executed your father’s commission, 
wffiich rendered it necessary that I should go to Guild- 
ford, I should have lost the chance of getting to Ply- 
mouth in time to obtain a passage in * The Silver Queen ’ 
for Australia. I wrote a letter to your father, explain- 
ing the circumstances of my sudden departure, and I 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS. 


149 

enclosed in it his own written instructions to me and 
the bank notes for the money he wished me to pay 
away. I sought for him, but unfortunately could not 
find him ; had I seen him I should have returned the 
money personally to him, and I wrote my explanatory 
letter only because experience of his movements had 
taught me that it was sometimes difficult to come across 
him without a previous engagement being made. 
With my letter in my hand I hastened to your house, 
intending to give it to you, but you and Miss Felicia 
were from home, and the only member of the family in 
the house was your grandmamma. I saw her and gave 
her the letter, begging her to give it to Mr. Longmore 
the moment she saw him. This is a true statement of 
what occurred. 

“ In thinking over the matter I can come to but one 
of two conclusions, either that your grandmamma for- 
got all about the letter, or, deeming it of no importance, 
put it away with other unimportant things which she 
has on several occasions appropriated. 

“ Dear Grace, when you have read these lines go 
immediately to your grandmamma and tax her memory. 
Do not be satisfied with a denial from her. Tell her 
that I, Edward Ollier, unjustly accused of a crime 
and unjustly condemned, charge her with concealing 
that upon which the honor of my good name rests. 
You will best know how to force a confession from her. 
In your dear hands I place my defence. I leave my 
vindication to you. 

“And now I must close this letter; I have barely 
time to catch the mail. Good-bye, dear Grace. I am 
as I have ever been ; my heart is unchanged. There is 
nothing to preveht my saying this, nothing that can in 
justice stop me from declaring that I love you truly and 


1 5 o 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


faithfully. Give my love to Miss Felicia, to which my 
dear father adds his, to her and to you. 

“ Yours till death, 

“Ned Ollier.” 

The letter read, Grace kissed it, and said : 

“I am going to my father. You witnessed the ac- 
cusation ; you must witness the acquittal.” 

We proceeded to his study, and busily engaged as he 
was he made no remonstrance at the interruption. 
Ever since he had branded Ned as a thief there had 
been between him and his daughter none of those out- 
ward demonstrations of affection which sweeten the 
association of parents and children ; and, as if by com- 
mon consent, the smallest matter which might have 
provoked contention was avoided. I have an impres- 
sion that, from the day of the accusation and of his 
daughters spirited defence of her lover, Benjamin 
Longmore was in some sense afraid of Grace, and I 
have little doubt that this fear sprang from the prickings 
of his conscience. 

He looked up at our entrance, and cleared some 
papers from a chair for Grace, who was too deeply 
absorbed in her purpose to seat herself. 

“When I gave you your letters, father,” she com- 
menced, “I found that one had dropped to the ground, 
and was left behind.” 

He stretched forth his hand for it. 

“The letter was for me,” she said. “Here is the 
envelope. It comes from Australia, you see. Do you 
recognize the writing?” 

He looked at it, and his face grew a shade paler. I 
had never been more observant of the smallest signs 
than I was during this interview ; I was seeking for 


MERRY i MERRY BOYS . 


151 

something which, before the interview was ended, was 
revealed to me. 

“It is Ned's writing/’ said Grace. “He is living, 
thank God, having been wonderfully and mercifully 
saved. It would not be proper, perhaps, for me to 
receive letters from him without your knowledge, 
although he has risen, as it were, from the grave, and 
although there rests upon him no such prohibition as 
you conveyed to his father.” 

He exhibited no surprise at her knowledge of this 
prohibition, nor at the intimation that Ned was living, 
but I saw that he was disconcerted when she spoke of 
Ned. 

“Has Mr. Ollier written to you,” he asked coldly, 
“ since my last letter to him ? ” 

“ He has not,” replied Grace, “but I have written to 
him regularly, and Miss Felicia has heard frequently 
from him. Father, the news of Ned’s safety does not 
seem to surprise you.” 

He did not reply to this, and shuddering as though 
she had been struck, she continued : 

“ I have brought Ned’s letter for you to read.” 

“I have no wish to read it,” he said. 

“But it is imperative you should,” said Grace. “ He 
has entrusted his honor to me, and with your own lips 
you shall acquit him of the foul charge you brought 
against him.” 

“ Grace,” he cried, “do you forget that I am your 
father ? Do you forget the duty you owe me ? ” 

“ No,” she said sadly, “ I do not forget it ; but there 
is a higher duty before me, and I shall fulfil it.” 

She held out the letter to him, and he took it and 
read it. Returning it to her, he said : 

“Well?” 


152 


MERE Y, MERE Y BO YS. 


“ Well, father ? Have you nothing to say to it ? ” 

‘ Nothing, ” he replied. * ‘ Y our grandmother is dead. 
If what this young man writes is true he is unfortu- 
nate. for his defence comes too late. You cannot sum- 
mon up the dead.” 

“ It is never too late for justice,” said Grace, “and 
those who have gone from us have still the power to 
speak to us, to touch our hearts, even to guide us in 
the right path, if we will but listen. Grandmamma 
cannot testify to Ned’s innocence, but evidence of it 
may be found in her boxes.” 

“ Well,” said Benjamin Longmore, “go and search 
them.” 

“Not alone,” said Grace. “You must come with 
us. ” 

“If it must be,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, 
and we three went together upstairs to the room which 
Grandmamma Longmore had occupied. 

Everything had been put in order under my direc- 
tions. The grand dresses she had lately worn were in 
the wardrobe, the valuable rings with which she had 
decorated her wasted fingers were in a jewel-case on 
the dressing-table. I pointed them out to Benjamin 
Longmore, and said he ought to take care of them ; 
the only notice he took of my advice was a careless 
nod. Absorbed as he was in the pursuit of wealth, 
there was absent in him that meanness which gener- 
ally accompanies it. 

From under the bed we dragged foward the two hair- 
covered trunks in which Grandmamma Longmore had 
kept her treasures. Not knowing what they contained 
1 had placed them there for better safety. We searched 
for the keys, which Grace gave to her father. 

“You must open the trunks,” she said. 


MERRY i MERRY BOYS 


53 


He unlocked them, and took from them the articles 
with which they were filled, and laid them on the bed. 
Many of the parcels were sealed with wax, others were 
tied with string-, all were in some way secured. One 
by one we opened them and it was only because of 
the solemn search in which we were engaged that we 
were prevented from appreciating the singular comi- 
cality of our discoveries. The articles we took from 
their coverings were absolutely worthless: lumps of 
sugar, heaven knows how many pounds in all, pins, 
hairpins, empty reels of cotton and thread, buttons, 
shoe-laces, patterns of dress pieces which had been 
sent to the house by enterprising tradesmen, and other 
substantial advertisements, such as little cakes of pat- 
ent soaps, starch, blue, cocoa, tooth-powder, etc., etc. 
Before we came to the end of this strange collection 
Grace handed to her father a flat packet sealed in a 
dozen places. Unfastening it he drew forth a letter 
addressed to himself in Ned’s writing. Grace put her 
hand to her heart. 

“Open the letter, father,” she said. 

He did so, and, like winged messengers from heaven, 
there fluttered to the bed bank notes for two hundred 
pounds. He read the letter in silence, took up the 
notes, looked carefully at them, and put letter and 
money in his pocket. 

“They are new Bank of England notes, father.” 

“They are.” 

“You are a man of business. You must have known 
the numbers.” 

“I did not know them, but they could be traced.” 

“They were never traced.” 

“Never.” 

“You took means that they should be.” 


54 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


“I did.” 

“Are you satisfied of Ned’s innocence ? Do you with- 
draw the accusation ?” 

“Iam satisfied of his innocence. I withdraw the 
accusation.” 

“ Ned did not rob you. He is not a thief? ” 

“He did not rob me. He is not a thief.” 

“No,” said Grace, with a glowing face, “he is not a 
thief. He is the noblest, purest gentleman in all the 
world ! ” 

She clasped her hands before her eyes, but there 
were no tears in them. They were radiant, as was he 
lovely face. Presently she said : 

“There are a few words in Ned’s letter, father, which 
I should like to read aloud.” She referred to the 
letter, and read: “The one morsel of comfort that 
animates me now as I write is that the news of our 
rescue, doubtless with the names of the few who were 
saved, has been cabled to the London newspapers and 
published in them, so that long before you can receive 
this letter, you will have known that I was one of the 
number.” Father, for some time after the news of the 
loss of ‘ The Silver Queen’ was received, we searched 
the newspapers in the hope that intelligence might 
arrive that it was not true. When at length we gave 
up hope we ceased looking at the papers, and from 
that time have never read them. I will not ask you 
whether you knew of Ned’s safety — I dare not, father.” 

She paused, dreading, hoping that he would speak, 
but he uttered no word. I glanced at his face, and 
saw there that he had read of Ned’s rescue, and had 
kept it from us. What I had been seeking during the 
interview was now revealed to me. 

“Dear Miss Felicia,” said Grace, “I am going to my 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


155 


room. No, do not come with me. I do not require 
support ; I am well, I am strong-. There is light in my 
heart. I must offer up to God, alone, my prayer of 
gratitude ! ” 

It is necessary, perhaps that I should explain why 
Mr. Macmillan, with whom we were in constant com- 
munication, did not inform us of Ned's rescue. The 
fact was, although he knew that Grace had passed 
through a period of sorrow, he knew nothing what- 
ever of its cause. Neither Grace nor I had ever ac- 
quainted him that the man she loved was on “The 
Silver Queen.” He had never seen or heard of Philip 
Olier or his son, and there was no reason, therefore, 
why he should speak to us of one special item in the 
columns of the newspapers which, in these times, re- 
cord from day to day so many strange and startling 
events. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

I HOLD YOU BOTH TO THE PROMISE YOU GAVE ME. 

Some few months after Ned’s innocence was estab- 
lished Grace read me a passage from one of his letters 
in which he desired her not to write to him again to 
Australia. He and his father were coming home. 
He spoke vaguely of a stroke of good fortune which 
enabled them to return to their native land, but he did 
not enter into particulars. All he said was, that they 
were not coming home penniless. 

“I shall see my Ned soon,” said Grace in a blithe 
voice. 

For myself I scarcely knew how to take the news. 
Both Ned and Grace had given a promise to Benjamin 


MERRY i MERRY BOYS. 


156 

Longmore that they would not marry without his con- 
sent and I felt that this consent would be withheld. In 
that case, what would the faithful lovers do? I could 
not decide. All that could be done was to wait for 
events. Grace was very bright and happy, and I did 
not speak to her of my forebodings. The dear girl 
had had sorrow enough. 

In due time a letter arrived, in Ned's writing, and 
with an English stamp on the envelope : 

“ My Dear Grace, — We are home, my dear father and 
I. Dare I hope to see you — and how ? I must not 
come to your father's house without his consent. 

“Yours ever faithfully, 
“Ned." 

“I will write to Ned to-night," said Grace, “that 
you and I will come and see him to-morrow. The ad- 
dress he gives is not far from Mr. Macmillan's house." 

I did not like the look of this ; Mr. Macmillan lived 
in an unfashionable neighborhood, and that the Olliers 
should take up their residence there, even temporarily, 
seemed to augur that they were not overburdened 
with money. On the following day we went to them. 
Benjamin Longmore placed no restraint upon his 
daughter's movements, and thereby showed that he 
had not only respect for her character but the fullest 
confidence in her pledged word. 

Grace's heart was very full, and we had but little con- 
versation on the road. The moment we turned the 
corner of the street in which the Olliers lodged she saw 
Ned, who was waiting at the door, looking out for us. 
He hastened towards us. 

“ Grace ! " he cried. 


ME ft A' Y, MERRY BOYS. 


157 


“Ned!” 

They gazed at each other earnestly, lovingly, their 
hands clasped tight. That was all. But the long and 
earnest look brought happiness to both. Then Philip 
Ollier, who had kept a little in the background, came 
forward. He put his arm around Grace, and kissed 
her in the open street ; and moreover both he and Ned 
kissed me with much affection. There was no harm in 
it ; I was an old woman. Between Grace and Ned no 
kisses passed. 

How brown, and manly, and strong Ned looked ! 
And his father looked well, too. There was no longer 
trouble in his face, and as his proud eyes rested upon 
Ned I knew where his joy and happiness lay. 

We walked along to Mr. Macmillan’s workshops, 
Philip Ollier and I leading the way. We had much to 
talk of, and Philip Ollier spoke of Benjamin Longmore. 

“He has grown very rich,” he said. 

“Very rich,” I said. 

“He has attained his wish,” said Philip Ollier. “ He 
always sighed for riches.”' He glanced over his 
shoulder at Grace and Ned, who, engaged in earnest 
conversation, were following behind. “Is there any 
hope ? ” 

“I cannot say,” I answered. “Mr. Longmore, as 
you knew him once in the old happy times, and Mr, 
Longmore, as he is to-day, are different men.” 

“Ned can provide a comfortable home for Grace, 
Miss Felicia.” I sighed and he added. “Well, we are 
not going to despond.” 

“A fatal promise stands between them, Mr. Ollier.” 

“Ah, you take the gloomiest view; but there is a 
bright side to the shield.” 

“ Will they keep to their promise ? ” I asked. 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


158 

“I think there is no doubt of it.” I sighed again. 
“ Come, come, we must have no shadow. The world 
is filled with light.” He spoke so brightly that my sad- 
ness vanished. “They are young still. As Grace 
turned the corner of the street I thought it was her 
mother coming towards us.” 

“ She is worthy of her mother Mr. Ollier. She has 
the sweetest nature, the most noble heart.” 

“ I know it. I love and honor her.” 

We arrived at Mr. Macmillan’s workshops, and wait- 
ing for Grace and Ned to join us, entered. Mr. Mac- 
millan came and welcomed us. Philip Ollier and 
Ned were much interested in what he had to say, and 
when he turned to Grace with the remark, “you can- 
not imagine how much we owe her,” Ned’s eyes 
lighted up with joy. Mr. Macmillan saw how it was 
with them, and he gazed at them approvingly. A lit- 
tle later Philip Ollier said : * 

“I think we can help you, Mr. Macmillan. You 
must enroll us.” 

“It is done,” said Mr. Macmillan. “We are grate- 
ful for the smallest assistance.” 

The hour we passed in the workshops was a very 
happy one, and I saw Phillip Ollier give Mr. Macmillan 
some money. The father and son walked part of the 
way home with us, then we bade them good-bye. 

“Ned is going to write to father this week,” said 
Grace. 

“ Did he speak of the promise that was given to your 
father ? ” I asked. 

“Yes,” she replied “ and, we shall abide by it.’’ 

Upon our arrival at our house we were told that Mr. 
Longmore was in his study and wished to see us at 
once. 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


59 


“ Ah, here you are,” he said ; “I have been waiting 
for you. I am going to show you something very 
wonderful. You saw the carriage at the door. In five 
minutes we must be off.” 

u Where to father ? ” asked Grace. 

“You shall see. It is a surprise I have in store for 
you. Run away, and come down in five minutes.” 

“ I have something to tell you first,” said Grace. 

“Never mind; it can wait. Go and get ready.” 

“I must tell you now. I have seen Ned and his 
father. ” 

“Oh,” he said, “ they have come home, then. They 
had better have stopped where they were.” 

“Why, father?” 

“Why!” he echoed. “They were in Australia, 
weren’t they ? Australia, the land of gold. They might 
have picked up something worth coming across if they 
had remained. There are golden chances there as well 
as in this country, for a man whose head is screwed 
on right. Look here.” He took a newspaper from 
the table. “ When we come home from our drive read 
this account of the wonderful reef that is discovered 
there, and made into a company. It was floated in a 
day, the capital, one million. Think of it. A million ! 
And the shares are at a fabulous premium. Every fifty 
pounds is worth two hundred. The dividends are de- 
clared not yearly or half yearly, but weekly. It is 
enough to send a man crazy to read about it. It isn’t 
gold in quartz, it’s quartz in gold. A hundred ounces 
to the ton. Now if Mr. Ollier and his son had stopped 
in the land of gold, they might have had just such an- 
other piece of luck. The race is to the swift and strong.” 

A singular smile appeared on his lips. “The race. 
Ah, Mr. Ollier and I, when we were boys ” — he pulled 


1 60 MERE Y y MERR Y BOYS. 

himself up suddenly at this unconscious recalling 1 of 
the dear old song — “Well, yes, we entered for a race. 
You shall see who will win.” He spoke no word of 
disapproval at our having been to see the Olliers, but 
with a light of triumph in his eyes, added exultingly, 
“Yes, you shall see who will win. It has come at 
last, at last.” 

“ I do not understand you, father,” said Grace. 

“ You will understand soon ; but you are wasting 
time.” 

“ We are quite ready.” 

“Come along, then.” 

We left the house and entered the carriage, and he 
gave instructions to the coachman, bidding him drive 
fast. After we had proceeded three or four miles he 
said : 

“Do you remember the road, Miss Felicia?” 

“Yes, sir,” I replied, “ it is the road we took many, 
many years ago, when your dear wife was alive. Mr. 
Ollier and his son were with us.” 

Not a single circumstance in connection with my be- 
loved mistress had escaped my memory. Whenever I 
visited spots which had been hallowed by her presence, 
I seemed to live over again the days that were past. 

“ Yes,” said Benjamin Longmore, “they were with us. 
You remember the story that was told, Miss Felicia ? ” 

“At the gates of the beautiful house, sir, Mon Repos ? 
Yes, I remember it well.” 

“Was I there ? ” asked Grace. 

“No, dear,” I said; “you were too young.” 

“The story was not finished then,” observed Benja- 
min Longmore. “It soon will be/' 

We dashed along, the horses’ hoofs ringing merrily 
on the hard road. What was my astonishment when 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


161 


the coachman pulled up at the gates of Mon Repos ? 

“We get out here/’ said Benjamin Longmore. 
“Look there.” 

I looked in the desired direction, and saw bills pasted 
up, announcing the sale of Mon Repos in consequence 
of the death of the owner. 

“ I said one day I should be rich. I am rich. I said 
one day I should be master of Mon Repos. I shall be.” 

The gates being opened for us we strolled through 
tl>e grounds, and afterwards inspected the house itself. 
It had been furnished with exquisite taste. There was 
nothing tawdry about it. Elegant simplicity distin- 
guished every room. It was not as large as I expected 
it to be, but that rather added to its beauty in my eyes. 
That nothing had been spared to render it not only beau- 
tiful but comfortable was evident. The grounds were as 
perfect as the dwelling. There was a lovely lawn ; 
there were orchards, nut walks, kitchen and flower 
gardens, a dairy — everything, in fact, that the heart 
could desire. 

“ It is to be sold by auction in a fortnight, said 
Benjamin Longmore, “ house and furniture in one lot, 
if the reserve price is bid. I shall buy it, and my 
dreams will be realized.” 

We made no comment ; beautiful as was Mon Repos 
there were matters much nearer our hearts, even such 
a simple thing as a letter which Ned was to write to 
Benjamin Longmore. 

By the post which brought this letter to the house 
Grace received from Ned a copy of it. It was manly 
and respectful. Ned did not beat about the bush by re- 
counting his sufferings and adventures ; he introduced 
the subject earnestly and tenderly, and having stated 
that he was in a position to provide a fitting home for 


i 62 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


Grace, such a home as he was sure her father would 
approve of, he concluded by asking to be permitted to 
pay his addresses to her, with a view to an early mar- 
riage. 

We read this letter with hope, its tone was so ex- 
actly in accordance with our wishes. Anxiously did 
we wait for some sign from Benjamin Longmore ; but 
day after day passed, and he gave us none. Then 
Grace resolved to speak to her father. 

“You have heard from Ned, father? ” 

“Ah, you know that he wrote to me?" 

“Yes, father. It was arranged between us that he 
should do so.” 

“What do you want to ascertain from me? ” 

“Whether you have replied to Ned’s letter.” 

“I replied to it to-day, declining to give my consent.” 

Grace turned very white, but the color soon came to 
her face again. 

“What is your reason, father? ” 

“I gave none. I will give none. I hold you both 
to the promise, the sacred promise, you gave me, that 
you would not marry without my consent.” 

“ It was scarcely a sacred promise, father, but it is 
binding upon us. You can prevent my marrying Ned, 
but you cannot prevent my loving him.” 

“You will think better of that by-and-bye.” . 

“Never, father. While I live I shall love him, and 
no other man. If I marry I will marry him, and no 
other man.” 

“You speak somewhat boldly.” 

“I speak the dictates of my heart, in which I hold 
Ned with a love that will never fade, that will never 
grow less. Father, my happiness is at stake. You 
will reconsider your decision ? ” 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


1 63 

“I will not. Understand me, Grace. If Mr. Ollier 
had such a home as Mon Repos to offer you, with 
means to support it, I might consent to reconsider the 
matter ; not otherwise. Even then I do not say I 
would consent, but that I would reconsider my answer. 
With my sanction you shall marry none but a man 
as rich as myself. 

“It is scarcely likely,” said Grace, in a sad tone, 
“that Ned can offer me such a home, and you have no 
right to expect it. I should be happy with him any- 
where, under any circumstances. You are not acting 
fairly by us. He is your equal, in every way.” 

“My equal ! You are mad ! ” 

“lam truly in earnest. There was a time when 
you would not Have disputed it. Father, think. 
Money is not everything. It can degrade as well as 
ennoble.” 

“Ah,” said - Benjamin Longmore, “you speak as 
those beggars the Olliers speak, and this is their teach- 
ing.” 

“You are mistaken, father. They are my own 
sentiments, and neither Ned nor his father has said a 
word on the subject.” 

“Whichever way it is,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
“I have heard enough. Grace, do not lose sight of 
your duty to me.” 

“ I will not, but I owe a duty to myself and to others 
as well as to you.” 

“ I spea*k of a child’s duty to her father. You may 
force me to command you not to seethe Olliers again.” 

“Do not do that. I should not obey you. Do not 
drive me too hard, father.” 

Upon that, my dear Grace left the room. 

I was not present at this interview, but I heard all its 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


164 

particulars from Grace, and am therefore enabled to 
give a faithful account of what took place. Benjamin 
Longmore did not forbid his daughter to see the Olliers, 
and we met them every other day. Ned was very 
downcast, of course, but Grace's sweet ways comforted 
him a little. 

“We must wait, dear/’ she said. “My father will 
relent in time ; I feel that he will.” 

But our principal comforter was Philip Ollier. He 
insisted that all would come right, and his cheerfulness 
and confidence put heart into us. I gave him an 
account of our visit to Mon Repos, and he smiled and 
said : 

“See how riches may turn one's head, Miss Felicia. 
A dozen years ago nothing could have shaken my faith 
in Benjamin Longmore. The glare of gold has been 
too much for him. Well, time will show, time will 
show. ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

A FORTNIGHT OF EXCITEMENT. 

The fortnight between the day of our visit to Mon 
Repos and that on which it was to be sold by auction 
was an unusually busy time with Benjamin Longmore, 
both at home and in his city offices. During all these 
heart troubles his conduct towards me had been wonder- 
fully consistent. He knew that I took sides with Grace 
against him, and that I aided and abetted her in doing 
that of which he disapproved, such as visiting the 
Olliers and meeting Ned regularly. He knew that 
whenever these domestic matters cropped up I 
expressed my opinions frankly and freely, and that 


MERR Y, MERR Y BOYS. 165 

they were always adverse to his own. And yet, 
although he was my master, he never hinted at dismiss- 
ing me from his service. He paid the most scrupulous 
regard to his wife’s last wishes as to my position with 
Grace and in his house ; and antagonistic as we were, 
and much as I disapproved of his proceedings, I could 
not but yield him respect for this faithful obedience to 
one who, if she had lived, would have been as a shield 
against evil, and would have kept him from back-slid- 
ing. 

The painful crisis to which matters had come did not 
prevent him from calling upon my services during the 
fortnight, the pregnant events of which I am now 
recording. He summoned me indeed everyday, and 
kept me busy in his private office with figures and cal- 
culations and comparisons, and as he had a great many 
callers while I was with him I was a witness of much 
that opened my eyes to what was going on. In the 
course of this fortnight he had an extraordinary num- 
ber of visitors, who all came upon business and who 
were all in a tremendous huny. Day by day the 
excitement grew until my head was in a perfect whirl, 
and it was only the stirring nature of the disclosures 
which were made in my presence that enabled me to 
keep my senses together, for I saw that something 
serious was impending. 

On the first day Benjamin Longmore said to me, in 
explanation of his intention to remain at home a while 
longer than usual during business hours : 

“ I intend in the next fortnight, Miss Felicia, to make 
enough money to pay for Mon Repos out and out. I 
have had a private hint that the reserve put upon the 
whole of the property as it stands is eighty thousand 
pounds. It is a large sum, but much of the furniture 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


1 66 

is very valuable, and you will see by this catalogue, 
which you can look over at your leisure, that the house 
is filled with rare china and bric-a-brac, and that there 
are a number of famous pictures in it. Now I shall 
make this eighty thousand pounds before the sale takes 
place, perhaps more, and to do this by a grand coup 
of my devising it is necessary that I should be seen 
very little on the Exchange. But my agents are work- 
ing for me.” 

I do not pretend to be able to make this grand coup 
clear to those who are reading my story, first because 
it was very complicated, and second because it presently 
became mixed up with other grand coups which ren- 
dered it still more confusing to me. I could work out 
the figures and calculations which Benjamin Longmore 
set before me, and that was all that was required of me. 

At the end of the first day, after he had dismissed his 
agents, Benjamin Longmore rubbed his hands glee- 
fully, and informed me that a grand commencement 
had been made. 

“ If I realized what I have done to-day,” he said, “ I 
should add ten thousand pounds to my banking 
account. ” 

It was a marvel to me how great sums of money 
could be so easily made without any of it passing from 
hand to hand. 

Fortunately my master did not summon me to his 
room till two o’clock of the day, so that our mornings 
were free, and it was in the morning that Grace and I 
were in the habit of seeing Ned and his father. 

On the sixth or seventh day something that one of 
his agents said to Benjamin Longmore sent him into a 
fit of laughter. 

“There is nothing to look glum about,” he said. 


MERRY , i MERRY BOYS. 


167 

“ The stock has gone down all of a sudden. Let me 
see. It is two and a half worse than it opened at this 
morning. Well, buy up to a quarter of a million. Run 
off at once.” 

The agents’ cabs, with the smartest horses that could 
be selected, were always waiting at the door, and dur- 
ing these exciting days used to dash up and tear away 
like mad. 

“If it continues to go down,” said the agent, 
“ what then ? ” 

“What then?” exclaimed Benjamin Longmore. 
“ Why continue to buy. How do you think I have 
made my money ? By being chicken-hearted ? ” 

Away flew the agent to carry out my master’s instruc- 
tions, and came back in the evening with a graver 
face. He reported that the stock still continued to go 
down, and that there was a loss of twelve thousand 
pounds on the day’s transactions. 

“We shall realize all the more,” said Benjamin Long- 
more, “ when it goes up again — as it must. When was 
I mistaken ? To-morrow morning, the first thing, con- 
tinue to buy all that is offered. We will keep it in one 
hand.” 

O11 the morrow, after Benjamin Longmore’s return 
home, the telegraph boys kept up one continued rat-tat, 
rat-tat with their messages, and what with these and 
his numerous callers he had enough to do ; but he did 
everything promptly, giving his orders with decision, 
and I understood how it was that he had hitherto been 
so successful. I remembered him saying once, a good 
many years ago, that he had the mastiff quality in him ; 
he was now displaying it. 

On this evening he branched out, speculating in other 
directions, but the markets continued to go against him. 


1 68 


MERRY ; MERRY BOYS. 


When he sold stock it went up, when he bought it 
went down, and as his operations were colossal the 
balance on the wrong side swelled enormously. I 
heard him walking up and down his bedroom in the 
night, and upon my seeing him the following day I 
was shocked at his wild and haggard face. If I had 
had the slightest hope that my advice would have been 
of assistance I should have advised him to stop, but I 
knew too well that he would have resented the smallest 
interference from me. 

Every night now he paced the bedroom, or crept 
down to his private office to pore over figures, instead 
of going to sleep, but I doubt whether sleep would have 
come to him if he had courted it, he was in that state 
of excitement. 

“To-morrow the estate will be sold,” he said. “I 
intend to purchase it, to become master of Mon Repos 
before I die.” 

“You should try to sleep, sir,” I said. 

“ Sleep ! ” he muttered. “ I don’t think I shall ever 
sleep again ! And if Mon Repos slips through my 
fingers ” 

Nevertheless, racked and tortured as he was, he gave 
to his agents that evening instructions that staggered 
them. 

“What are you staring and mumbling at?” he 
exclaimed. “I know what lam about. Carry out 
my instructions to the letter. It is in this way men 
become millionaires. I shall get back every shilling of 
my losses three times over. If I forget to tell you in 
the morning, I shall be at the Mart from twelve o’clock 
to one. I am going to buy Mon Repos.” 

The agent stared at him, and hurried off. 

Benjamin Longmore’s check book had been in fre- 


MERRY, MERRY BOYS . 


169 

quent requisition these last few days, and he had signed 
for sums of enormous amount. He walked up and 
down the room, clutching his hair, twining and untwin- 
ing his fingers, and muttering to himself. Grace knew 
of the condition of her father, and had sent a private 
note to the doctor, asking him to call at the house in a 
friendly way to see Benjamin Longmore, and to say 
nothing of her having written to him. The doctor 
dropped in, and shook hands with my master with 
assumed carelessness, and then, as if it had suddenly 
occurred to him, said : 

“It strikes me, Mr. Longmore, that you look worn.” 

“I dare say,” said Benjamin Longmore, “I have a 
great deal on my mind. I am going to buy a fine estate 
to-morrow, and it will cost a great deal of money, a 
great deal of money, a great deal of money. But I 
mean to buy it, I mean to buy it.” 

“ Of course, of course. Now I am going to take the 
liberty of an old friend, not of a doctor, you know, and 
I shall send you a sedative.” 

“You may send it if you like,” said Benjamin Long- 
more, “but I promise you it will not be taken. I see 
how it is. You are in league against me.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense.” 

“You are. You will give me a sedative that will 
send me to sleep till Mon Repos is sold. You are kind, 
doctor, but the trick has failed. Don’t trouble yourself, 
my friend.” 

He glared at the doctor, who laughed and shrugged 
his shoulders, and after a little further conversation 
bade my master good-night. 

I succeeded in getting a few words with him before 
he left the house. 

“Mr. Longmore is in a bad way,” he said. “If this 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


170 

continues he will have brain fever. By the way, some 
rumors have reached me that he is pretty nigh ruined.” 

He did not ask me if the rumors were true, but 1 told 
him that Benjamin Longmore was greatly worried by 
some speculations which had not turned out well. He 
nodded his head, and said : 

‘‘I shall risk offending him, and shall call in the 
morning to see him.” 

He was as good as his word, and he made his 
appearance while we were breakfasting. I say “ break- 
fasting,” but neither Grace nor I ate much; Benjamin 
Longmore ate nothing. He had passed a dreadful 
night, and had not taken off his clothes. Before the 
doctor called he said : 

“I am not going to my office this morning, Miss 
Felicia. I shall go straight from here to the Mart. 
Send off these telegrams immediately.” 

They were to his agents, and contained fresh instruc- 
tions. His reception of the doctor was not friendly. 

“You have eaten no breakfast, I see,” said the doc- 
tor. “ That is a bad commencement of the day.” 

“ I can’t eat,” muttered Benjamin Longmore. “ Food 
chokes me.” 

“Take a glass of champagne,” said the doctor. 
“That, at least is a medicine you will not object to.” 

Benjamin Longmore consented readily enough to 
this, and he drank two glasses of champagne, watching 
warily that the doctor dropped nothing into the glass. 

“And now,” said the doctor, “let me advise you 
strongly to allow Miss Felicia to accompany you when 
you go out this morning.” 

“I will think of it,” said my master. 

At eleven o’clock he told me that I might go with 
him if I liked, saying that it would please me perhaps 


MERRY , MERRY BOYS. 


171 

to see him purchase the estate upon which he had set 
his heart. I was soon ready, and we rode together to 
the city. 

I11 the Mart in which the auction was to take place 
messengers were awaiting him with written slips of 
paper. As he glanced at them his face turned deathly 
white, and he trembled like a man struck with palsy. 
Writing answers to the information he had received he 
dispatched the messengers, and we applied ourselves 
to what the auctioneer, who was already in his box, 
was saying. There were other properties to be sold 
before Mon Repos, and this part of the day’s business 
being disposed of, the auctioneer said: “I have now 
to offer, gentlemen, the most charming and lovely 
estate in the suburbs of London.” 

He went on to describe it, and said that, in accord- 
ance with the will of the late owner, Mon Repos, a 
freehold of twenty acres, situated' in a locality in which 
the value of the land was daily rising, with all its 
improvements and furnishings, of which complete 
details were given in the catalogues, was to be put up 
in a single lot. If the reserve price was reached it 
would be sold ; if not it would be disposed of piece- 
meal on a future day. He then asked for a bid for the 
property. 

I looked at Benjamin Longmore, who, in a husky 
voice called out : 

“ Fifty thousand.” 

“ Fifty thousand is bid,” said the auctioneer. ‘ * Fifty 
thousand, fifty thousand. Fifty-two thousand, fifty- 
four, fifty-six, fifty-eight, sixty thousand. I may state 
that this is a long way from the reserve. Sixty-five 
thousand. Thank you.” 

“ Seventy thousand,” said Benjamin Longmore. 


172 


MERRY . ; MERRY BOYS. 


‘‘Seventy thousand, seventy-five thousand, seventy- 
six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-eight, seventy 
eight. We have not reached the mark yet, gentlemen.” 

“Eighty thousand,” said Benjamin Longmore. 

“Eighty thousand, eighty thousand, eighty thousand. 
Eighty-one thousand. Thank you.” 

At the moment the auctioneer was dwelling on this 
last bid, and Benjamin Longmore was about to open his 
lips to bid again, he was touched on the shoulder. Turn- 
ing, he saw an agent who had visited the house of late 
very frequently. He whispered something in Benjamin 
Longmore’s ear. 

“My God!” muttered my master, and his hands 
wandered in front of him, for support. 

“Eighty-one thousand, eighty-one thousand, eighty- 
one thousand,” said the auctioneer. “If there is no 
further bid this magnificent property will be knocked 
down for eighty-one thousand pounds. Eighty-one, 
eighty-one. Going, going ” 

Benjamin Longmore essayed to speak, but no sound 
issued from his lips. The agent clutched my masters 
arm, and shook his head warningly. Again my master 
tried to speak, but could not. The muscles of his face 
twitched convulsively, and I saw that he was in fright- 
ful agony. 

“ It is going, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer. “It 
will be years before such another opportunity presents 
itself. It is the chance of a lifetime. Going for eighty- 
one thousand pounds. Going, going, going. Gone ! ” 
The hammer dropped. Mon Repos was sold, and Ben- 
jamin Longmore was not its master. 

With a muffled cry he staggered and fell to the 
ground. 


MERE Y, MERR Y BOYS. 


*73 


CHAPTER XXI. 

AND ALL THE BIRDS WERE SINGING. 

A month after Mon Repos was sold the doctor, Grace, 
and I were standing in the sitting-room of our house. 

“He will pull through/’ said the doctor. “I could 
not conscientiously give you so decided a hope before 
this morning, but the tide has turned, and your father 
will now pull through. It has been a hard tussle, 
and but for you, my dear ladies, he would have lost 
the battle. Mr. Longmore owes his life to your .care 
and attention. That is good news, is it not? He will 
soon be quite well. And you, my dear ” — he touched 
Grace’s cheek lightly with his finger — “must get your 
roses back again. Miss Felicia, fhere is a young gentle- 
man walking up and down the opposite side of the road. 
I have observed him indulgingin that amusement on 
other occasions, and the strange feature of the affair is 
that he keeps continually looking at the windows of 
this house.” The good doctor smiled as he made this 
comment. “Come to the window. There is the cul- 
prit.” 

It was Ned, who, when he saw us at the window, 
nodded and smiled anxiously. 

“ Bless me ! ” said the doctor. “The roses are com- 
ing back much quicker than I could have anticipated. 
Well, good-morning, good morning.” 

We went with him to the street door, and Ned came 
over to us. 


174 


MERR Y, MERR Y BO YS. 


“ It is good news, dear Grace,” he said. 

“It is good news, dear Ned,” said Grace. “My 
father is out of danger. I thank God.” 

They stood at the door, talking for a few minutes, 
and then Ned took his departure. 

Benjamin Longmore, since the sale of Mon Repos, had 
indeed been near to death, and I verily believe if it had 
not been for dear Grace’s unremitting care, that he would 
have died. Another misfortune had befallen him. He 
was utterly ruined. Of his great fortune not a shilling 
was saved. The mad speculation of that fatal fortnight 
had stripped him bare. 

There was even something more. Had it not been 
for the intervention of an unknown friend dishonor 
would have attended his ruin, for in the settlement of his 
accounts a large sum was needed to set them straight. 
Unknown to him, unknown to us, this friend had step- 
ped in to preserve his good name, and although he 
stood a beggar in the eyes of the world, not a word 
could be uttered against him. He had grown very old 
looking during his illness, and his hair was almost 
white. 

As the doctor predicted, he soon got well. From the 
day on which he was pronounced out of danger he 
mended rapidly. And now, after the lapse of another 
two weeks, he was sitting with us, listening to Grace’s 
gentle voice, and gazing at her in a kind of wonder. 
Ever and anon he turned his thoughts inwards, as it 
were, questioning himself. 

“Grace, dear,” he said. 

“Yes, father.” 

“Come close to me. child. Can you forgive me?” 

She kissed his tears away. “It is over, dear father. 
We will forget the past few years. We will look for- 


MERRY , ; MERRY BOYS. 


175 

ward to the future, with hope, with love. ” She repeated 
the words. “With hope, with love.” 

And now it was she who was crying. He held her 
in his embrace, and presently released her, and she 
went back to her place, and took up the work upon 
which she was engaged. Calling to me he said that he 
wished me to write to a gentleman who had managed 
his business for him, asking him to call in the morning. 
I wrote the letter at his dictation, and he signed it ; and 
on the following morning his late manager called. 

“ Do not go away, Miss Felicia,” said Benjamin 
Longmore. 

I resumed my seat, and the two gentlemen had a long 
conversation, in the course of which my master learned 
all that had taken place. 

“I am a ruined man, Miss Felicia,” he said. 

“ We knew that, sir,” I said, “ but it made no differ- 
ence.” 

Had I expressed myself truly I should have said I 
was glad of it. The money he had amassed had 
brought sorrow with it, and now that he had lost it 
here was a chance of happiness for us. 

“Who has paid the expenses of the house during my 
illness, Miss Felicia?” he asked. 

“ Grace, sir. She has a little money of her own, you 
know.” 

“I am glad she took it from me,” he said, “or it 
might have been lost in the wreck.” 

He then went into closer details with his late man- 
ager, and learned that his accounts had been over twenty 
thousand pounds short. 

“The amount was paid by a gentleman,” said the 
manager, “ who desired that his name should not be 
introduced into the matter. But it is right you should 
know it.” 


MERR Y, MERR Y BOYS, 


176 

“ It is. Who was this good friend ? ” 

“ Mr. Philip Ollier/’ 

I started, and looked up. Ned had not mentioned 
one word of this. 

“ I am justly reproved,” said Benjamin Longmore, 
and when the gentleman was gone he asked me to 
bring Grace to him. 

“ Philip Ollier has saved my good name, Grace,” he 
said. 

“It is like him,” she replied. “It was my good 
name as well as yours.” 

“ Has he been here, Grace? ” 

“No, father. Ned has been outside, anxious for 
news. Tha f is all. He did not come in. I have a 
note for you from Mr. Ollier. May I give it to you ? ” 

“ I shall be glad to have it, Grace.” 

She handed it to him. It was short and simple : 

‘ ‘ Dear Ben : — May Ned and I come to see you ? Your 
old and faithful friend, Philip Ollier.” 

Benjamin Longmore was silent for a few moments, 
then he said : 

“Bring me pen and ink, dear.” 

She put writing materials before him, and he wrote : 

“Dear Phil : — If your heart is not filled with bitterness 
towards me, come, and bring Ned with you. I am 
awakened out of a horrible dream. I hardly dare to 
call myself your old friend, Benjamin Longmore.” 

He gave the letter to Grace to read. Her eyes 
became bright ; there was a joyful ring in her voice. 

“I will send it at once, father.” 

“Take it to him,” said Benjamin Longmore, “and 


MERR Y, MERR Y BOYS. 


1 77 

bring him and Ned back with you, if they will come. 
Miss Felicia will remain with me.” 

“She danced out of the room, and danced back 
again, dressed for a happy walk, almost before we 
could turn round. She embraced her father and me, 
and flew out of the house like a bird in sweet spring- 
time. 

When she returned with Philip Ollier and Ned, Ben- 
jamin Longmore looked humbly and imploringly at 
them. 

“Not a word, old friend,” said Philip Ollier, taking 
his hand, and patting him on the shoulder. “We all 
make mistakes sometimes. Let us be thankful if we 
are spared to repair them.” 

Benjamin Longmore called Grace and Ned to him, 
and joined their hands. 

“But she is a poor girl, Ned,” he said. 

“ She is Grace,” said Ned, kissing her. 

* * * • * # 

During the evening Benjamin Longmore asked Philip 
Ollier how he had made his money. 

“You have heard of the Eureka mine, Ben,” said 
Philip Ollier. 

It was the wonderful mine of which Benjamin Long- 
more had spoken to me when he said it was a pity the 
Olliers had not remained in Australia. 

“Who has not heard of it?” said Benjamin Long- 
more. “It is one of the richest gold mines in the 
world.” 

“ Ned and I discovered that mine,” said Philip Ollier, 
quietly. “We are the largest shareholders.” 

***** 

On a bright morning Philip Ollier and Ned came in a 
carriage to take us for a drive. We travelled the old 


1 78 MERR y t MERR V BOYS . 

road, Barnet way, and the carriage stopped at the gates 
of Mon Repos. 

“Our boyish dream, Ben,” said Philip Ollier, with a 
smile. 

“Yes, Phil,” said Benjamin Longmore, with a touch 
of sadness in his voice. 

Philip Ollier jumped down and rang the bell. The 
gales were opened, and, wrapt in wonder, we walked 
into the lovely grounds. 

“ Dear Grace,” said Philip Ollier, “sweet Grace, for 
the blessing of whose love my boy Ned and I are 
eternally grateful, this is my wedding present to you. 
I bought Mon Repos. My dear, it is yours.” 

The fragrant air whispered to the trees and all the 
birds were singing. 


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90. IHprtl’g By “The Duchess” 

“ April’s Lady ” is the best thing that *' The Duchess ” has 
done. Her superb feminine disregard for the reasons of things is 
less apparent than in other of her stories. She has also succeeded 
in mastering the Irish dialect. — Exchange. 

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91. Piolet lflgvian, /1ft. 3F. lb, - By May Crommelin 

A stirring tale of English country life. The thrilling descrip- 
tions of fox hunts will afford many an hour’s pleasure to the lovers 
of the sport aside for the great interest in the plot and the strong 
but lovely character of the beautiful “ M. F. H.” 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


92. B HClomatl Of tbe Hfflorlft - By F. Mabel Robinson 

Miss Robinson’s novel is a story which has both power and 
beauty. There is true pathos in the book, and there is a good deal 
of humor,- and brighness as well — and “A Woman of the World” 
must be regarded as an exceptionally able, interesting and whole- 
some novel. — Spectator . 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


93. &be JBaffleft Conspirators - - By w. e. Norris 

The novel-reading world is indebted to Mr. Norris for many 
pleasant hours, and his last story increases that debt very materially. 
“ The Baffled Conspirators ” is a delightful book, full of sly, 
delicate humor and admirable portraiture, and the story of the 
conspiracy of the four bachelors and its ignominious failure, is 
extremely entertaining . — Charleston Times. 

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94, Strange Crimes By Wm. Westall 

Some of the crimes that Mr. Westall recounts are curious and 
extraordinary enough to repay the reader, and he tells his stories 
very well. We have found most interesting the account of the 
escape of Debagorio Mokrievitch from Eastern Siberia. It is a 
thrilling narrative. — Charleston Sun. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


95 . EHgbonoreft By Theo. Gift 

There are touches cf simple, natural pathos especially in the 
third volume ; and though “ Dishonored ” is not in any way a 
remarkable novel, it is a novel which cannot fail to please all who 
care for an intrinsically interesting and well-told story. — London 
Spectator. 

The book must be pronounced a really good novel, because it 
fulfils the purpose for which a novel exists, by telling an interesting 
story in a thoroughly interesting way. — Manchester , (Eng.), Exam- 
iner. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


96 . XTbe Jftgsterg of /1ft. ffelis - By b. l. Farjeon 

We have had some remarkably strong stories from the pen of 
B. L. Farjeon from time to time, but none that exceeds in interest 
and strength the one which comes to us under this title. Mr. Far- 
jeon lays his story in London, and from the cry of “ Help ” which 
opens the first chapter to the closing paragraph “ Her trials are 
over,” it is full of life, movement, and the most absorbing interest. 
— Buffalo Tidings. 

A most exciting novel, full of interest, with a very complicated 
plot excellently worked out. From first to last the interest is 
admirably sustained. — St. Louis Republic. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


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LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


07 . •gglttb JSgseg in ITrelanD • By Hon. Emily Lawless 

It is written in a beautifully graceful, old-fashioned style, and 
recounts an interesting episode of history. Casually there are 
related some weird and supernatural experiences that are pleasantly 
gruesome . — Christian Union. 

This reproduction of former times, exact and beautiful, with all 
the flavor of the circumstances from which it professes to come, 
with a finish and a music which are delightful to the reader, must 
take its place among the highest specimens of historical novels.— 
Public Opinion. 

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08 . Solftiers ffbree anb @tber Stories By Rudyard Kipling 

Rudyard Kipling, whose stories have aroused such intense 
interest, is rather small, somewhat unused to women, and there is 
not in his manner a trace of the intense virility of his style in 
writing. He is short in stature, with a pale skin, brown hair, thin 
on top of his high head, brown, near-sighted eyes behind his spec- 
tacles, and wears a close cut mustache. There is a strong, bright 
strain of humor in his friendly manner. — The Independent. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

00 . Wbose was tb e Ibanfr? • By Mrs. m. e. Braddon 

The freshness and vitality of Mrs. Braddon’s power are a 
perpetual surprise. She holds her own easily with the present 
generation of novelists, and indeed, in style and general scope of 
interest her latest books are the best. She has steadily improved 
in mastery of her art, and one is always sure in taking up one of 
her novels, of finding a strong and well-constructed plot, interesting 
and life-like characters, and a story told in vigorous and picturesque 
English. “ Whose was the Hand ?” is a striking romance, and the 
reader who begins it is not likely to lay it down until the mystery is 
solved . — Charleston News. 

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TO O, ftbe 3BIfnD /Iftusfcfan By Stepniak and Wm. Westall 

For simplicity of effect and directness of accomplishment, we 
know of nothing like it in English prose. — Scots Observer. 

As a beautiful study, beautifully written, and conveying a 
healthy and stimulating lesson, the “ Blind Musician ” is perfect. — 

London Athenceum. 

Whoever reads this literary symphony, and fails to be touched 
to the heart by the writer’s wondrous skill, lacks indeed all mental 
refinement. — Detroit Commercial Advertiser. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

101, Ube Ibouse on tbe Scar * By Bertha Thomas 

Bertha Thomas is known as the author of “ The Violin 
Player ” more extensively than by her own name. Her recent work, 
“ The House on the Scar,” No. ioi in Lovell’s International Series, 
is probably an evidence of the strength gained in a literary way by 
successful literary effort. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

103, {Tbe Tpbantom ’TRfcftsbaw • By Rudyard Kipling 

“The maturity of philosophic and artistic thought in these 
stories is quite as striking as the faculty for trenchant characteriza- 
tion and the pungent wit.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ These pleasant stories have actual value.” — Boston Herald. 

“ Altogether the book is the most readable oollection oi stories, 
the freshest and most interesting that has appeared for years.” — 
Albany Express . 

“ He is a master in the art of telling short stories.” — Columbus , 
O., Journal, 

“Rudyard Kipling improves with practice. Some of his tales 
are startling, weird, and quite original.” — St. Louis Republic . 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS, 


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LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


104, XTb C %OVC Of a Xa&g By Annie Thomas 

Is the last work from the pen of this popular English writer. The 
book is one of the handsomest which the Lovells have gotten out 
of late, which is saying much, considering the high grade of manu> 
facture which has characterized all their publications of late. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


105* Ibow Came 1 be g>eaft? - By J. Fitzgerald Molloy 

J. Fitzgerald Molloy is known to England much more widely 
than to America, yet the intrinsic merit of his work, and the spirited 
crispness of his style, will soon make warm friends for him on this 
side of the water. “ How Came He Dead?” No. 105 in Lovell’s 
International Series, is replete with stirring incidents, told in smooth 
and entertaining English. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


106. ZhC DlCOmte y g Jgrtoe • • By Esme Stuart 

Isa bright and lively novel, full of action and incident, with a plot 
bordering slightly on the romantic, and with a pretty comedy interest 
that at once suggests a dramatic setting of the story . — Boston Gazette . 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


107. 2t TCevetenD gentleman - By J. Maclaren Cobban 

J. Maclaren Cobban has issued, through the Lovell publishing 
house, a volume entitled “ A Reverend Gentleman ” which has 
already appeared serially in England. From the same house he 
issued his very successful work entitled “ Master of His Fate,” 
which met with a wide sale and was much admired for its 
originality. 

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LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


108. motes from tbe * TRews ’ - - By James Payn 

Few little books furnish so much genuine entertainment, com- 
bined with shrewd and witty observation, as will be found in 
Mr. Payn’s “Notes from the ‘ News.’ ” — London Daily News. 

It is just the book to be taken up when one has two or three 
minutes to fill. It is full of good stories and interesting facts. — 
London Speaker. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

109. XL be Ikeeper Of tbe 1 ke%g - By F. W. Robinson 

“ The Keeper of the Keys ” does not fall behind its numerous 
predecessors. There is plenty of humor in the the book as well as 
pathos. — London Athenoeum. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

110. Zbc Scu&amoreg - By F. C. Philips and C. J. Wills 

F. C. Philips, whose “ As in a Looking-glass ” met with so 
large a sale, has recently published, through the John W. Lovell 
Co., by special arrangement, a work entitled “ The Scudamores,” 
which was written in colaboration with C. J. Wills, with whom he 
was also a joint author of “ The Fatal Phryne,” which was one of 
the earliest and best numbers of the International Series. He has 
also issued by the same house “ Margaret Byng,” which is said to 
be quite up to his usual standard. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

111. Zhe Gonf eegiong Of a Woman - By Mabel Collins 

The many admirers of Miss Collins’ former works entitled 
“The Blossom and the Fruit,” “The Idyl of the White Lotus,” 
“ Light on the Path,” and “ Through the Gates of Gold,” will wel- 
come this new departure in the line of authorship. 

The author has told this woman’s story so vividly that the 
reader will find difficulty in disassociating its relation from the 
actual existence of the writer. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISPIERS, N, Y. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


1 1 2. Sowing tbe HUlinO • - By E. Lynn Linton 

It will be read with interest by many, as the descriptions are 
graphic and much of the conversation is smart and sometimes 
brilliant. On the whole, the book is a satisfactory contribution to 
the library of fiction. — Sunday News, Detroit. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

11 3. H /IftarfrcE) /IRait - - By Ada Cambridge 

She gives promise of taking a high place among English 
novelists. The book is bright and unconventional, and there is no 
denying its power. — Albany Argus . 

Ada Cambridge gives us something to think of in her book 
very differently, no doubt, according to our different natures. 
Herein the book differs from most novels, which avoid all food for 
reflection. The descriptions both of still and active life are true.— - 
London Athenceum. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

114. /Iftargaret - - - By F. C. Philips 

“ Margaret Byng ” will find its admirers among the class who 
gave cordial welcome to “As in a Looking-Glass ” and “Young 
Mr. Ainslie’s Courtship,” former popular works by this author. 
The story opens in a smart little house in South Street Park Lane, 
London, and contains many of the elements which united make a 
refreshing romance in which the good are very good and the bad 
are very bad indeed. — Kansas City Journal. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

115. jfor One an& tbe TlXHorlt) - By m. Betham-Edward s 

“ For One and the World ” is the latest work from the pen of 
M. Betham-Edwards. This lady has the masterful touch of an 
erudite man, with the keen, intuitive, womanly perceptions of her 
sex. The two combined make her work admirably instructive, 
while never losing their completeness of plot and interest. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


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LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


116. IfSrtncegg Sunsbtne - by Mrs. J. H. Riddell 

This last novel by this popular authoress, among the recent 
issues in Lovell’s International Series, fully sustains the character 
of this, the most popular series of novels ever published. 

Mrs. Riddell is a very clever woman, and she puts “brains” into 
all her work. “ Princess Sunshine” is full of attractiveness. The 
heroine is charming and the family life of the Gifford’s is capitally 
sketched. — Charleston News . 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

117. Sloane Square Scanfral - - By Annie Thomas 

She tells a trivial story very well, and draws men and women 
of the purely conventional sort with considerable skill. — News , 
Charleston. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

1 1 S. ftbe mm Of tbe 3tft mt. - • By H. F. Wood 

An exceedingly interesting story of London life, with strongly 
marked and well drawn characters, and pleasing dialogue, which, 
combined with the interest of a well laid plot, make it one of the 
best of recent novels. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

110. (&utte Bnotber Storg - • By Jean Ingelow 

It is not generally known that Jean Ingelow, whose poetry has 
found an echoing chord in almost every heart among the English- 
speaking race, is still living in England, a delightful, white-haired 
old lady, who is still engaged in literary pursuits. The John W. 
Lovell Co. have issued, by special arrangement with her, a volume 
entitled “ Quite Another Story,” the tone of which is quite in accord 
with her delightful poems, and which must be read to be thor- 
oughly appreciated. 

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LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SEP Z/L«. 


120, Ibeart of (3otfr • By L. T. Meade 

Adaptibility and sympathy are two prominent qualities of L. T. 
Meade, the author of this story . — Literary World. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


121. ZhC THHort> an& Xlhc HCUll - By James Payn 

One of the most prolific writers in the literary life of London is 
James Payn. Almost every year chronicles a new book from his 
pen, but rapidity of execution with him does not mean want of care 
for the merit of the production. He is a writer of most excellent 
English, which it is a pleasure to read, aside from the interest 
aroused by the plot of his stories. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

122. 5)umpg • * - By Mrs. Louisa Parr 

A healthy, interesting and well-told story, easy to read and 
belongs to a class of which we find only too few of among the 
novels of the present day. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 


124, {Ebe Great fllMIl Street flftpgterg By Adeline Sergeant 

‘‘The Great Mill St. Mystery,” by Adeline Sargeant, is a story 
which holds the reader s interest until the end, a sort of old-fash- 
ioned story with an elaborate plot, plenty of incident and entertain- 
ing conversation. — Omaha Excelsior. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

125. ^Between Xife attft 5>eatb • By Frank Barrett 

Barrett’s reputation as a writer of stories is taking first rank. 
His stories are exciting and thoroughly original. — St. Louis Republic 

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UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, N. Y. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


126. TRame anfr jfame 

By Adeline Sargeant and Ewing Lester 

The authors cf “Name and Fame” have endeavored with 
more success than might have been expected, to justify a bold steo 
across conventional borders. There is a good deal that is readable 
in the book. — London Athenceum . 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, SO CENTS. 

127. IPramag Of Xife - • By George R. Sims 

The man of the London Referee has made himself famous 
for story-telling, both in prose and verse. His name is a guaranty 
cf good reading. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

128. Xovec or jfrfent) 7 • By Rosa Nouchette Carey 

Rosa Nouchette Carey cannot be dull if she tries, or, at any 
event, she never tries. Her novels make no pretense to deep pur- 
pose, and “ Lover or Friend ” is a simple love story told with plenty 
of liveliness. — Charleston News. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

129. Samoug or IFnfamouS - - By Bertha Thomas 

An unusually well told tale with many original and strongly de» 
fined characters which will place it in the front rank of modern fiction. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER, 50 CENTS. 

130. trbe Ibouse Cf Iballtwelt • By Mrs. Henry Wood 

More than one million copies of books by the author of “ East 
Lynne ” have been sold, and this last one from her pen will fully 
keep up the average. 

“ The House of Halliwell ” was written many years ago, but 
never published. It differs somewhat in style from the author's 
subsequent work, but every page bears the unmistakable impress 
of the author of “ East Lynne.” 

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BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHORS. 


LOVELL’S 

Westminster Series. 


1. Her Last Throw. By “ The Duchess” - - 25 

2. The Moment After. By Robert Buchanan - 25 

3. The Case of Gen’l Ople and Lady Camper. By 

George Meredith 25 

4. The Story of the Gadsbys. By Rudyard 

Kipling .... - 25 

5. The Doctors Secret. By Rita 25 

6. The Tale of Chloe. By George Meredith - 25 

7. The Old Courtyard. By Katherine S. Macquoid 25 

8. Frances Kane’s Fortune. By L. T. Meade - 25 

9. Passion the Plaything. By R. Murray Gilchrist, 25 

10. City and Suburban. By Florence Warden - 25 

11. A Romance of the Wire. By M. Betham- 

Edwards 25 

12. The Havoc of a Smile. By L. B. Walford - 25 

13. The Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau. By Canon 

Farrar - - - - 25 

14. A Black Business. By Hawley Smart - 25 

15. Missing — A Young Girl. By Florence Warden 25 

16. Le Beau Sabreur. By Annie Thomas 25 

17. A Marriage at Sea. By H. Clark Russell - 25 

18. A Very Young Couple. By B. L. Farjeon - 25 

19. He Went for a Soldier. By John Strange 

Winter - - 25 

20. A Bride from the Bush. By a new writer - 25 

21. A Laggard in Love. By Jeanie G wynne Bettany 25 

22. Work While Ye Have the Light. By Count 

Lyof Tolstoi 25 

23. Under the Deodars. By Rudyard Kipling - 25 

24. Merry, Merry Boys By B. L. Farjeon - . 25 

36. The Light that Failed. By Rudyard Kipling 25 

Any of the above sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers. 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY* 

•uecmona to 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

142 TO 150 WORTH STREET. NEW YORK. 




































































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